Burden of Truth
by Phenyx
Summary: The truth can kill you or set you free. A truth no one was searching for is about to be revealed. As promised, here is the tenth and final chapter. Hope you enjoy.
1. A stand up guy

**Disclaimer**: The Pretender doesn't belong to me. I've stolen these characters for purely selfish reasons. I feel no remorse and therefore will not apologize. I am not making a dime on this endeavor so it does no one any good to sue me for it anyway. (I'll wrap up with a blatant plea to all U.S. readers… Buy The Pretender on DVD today!)

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**Burden of Truth**

By Phenyx

05/03/2005

_Before a secret is told, one can often feel the weight of it in the atmosphere - _Susan Griffin

Shifting his briefcase from one hand to the other, Nicholas Stamatis freed his left hand in order to check the watch on his wrist. The bus was late, as usual. Experience had taught Nicholas that the bus wouldn't be more than a few minutes behind schedule. This mode of public transportation was extremely late only when the weather was cold and rainy and travelers could least afford the delay.

But this was a beautiful night. The evening air held only the faintest chill, hinting at the arrival of spring. The sky was clear and twinkled with a million stars. The light from the lamppost bathed the corner with illumination. Its brightness reflected off the nearby glass-walled building creating a mirror-like surface. Nicholas studied his image for a moment and ran one hand through his hair to straighten the tussled strands.

Nicholas contemplated his reflection with a frown. Not overly tall, Nicholas knew he was of average height. He had an average build, ordinary brown hair and an almost bookish appearance. Granted, he was good-looking in an angular kind of way but in his opinion, he was no heartthrob. In the past, Nicholas' relationships with women had been built upon his wit and poetic sense of romance.

Then he'd met Connie.

Constance Farren had landed in Nicholas' life like a whirlwind. A non-traditional student in his Anglo-Saxon Literature course, Miss Farren was only four credits away from her Bachelor's degree and only a year younger than her Literature professor. The moment Nicholas laid eyes on her he had been captivated. Yet despite the instinctive desire he'd felt, Nicholas had remained aloof. After all, there were ethical concerns to be dealt with in any teacher-student relationship.

But now, there were only two weeks left in the semester. Two more weeks and Connie would no longer be his student. Then Nicholas' moral quandary would cease to exist. The problem was no longer a matter of keeping the girl at arm's length. Instead Nicholas had to figure out how to get closer.

Tonight was the night. Nicholas would put his cards on the table and tell Connie he was interested in seeing more of her after the semester was over. Much more. She had emailed him earlier in the day, asking for a meeting regarding advice on her final paper. Something in the tone of the message had forced Nicholas to a decision. The brief note had seemed detached, almost terse, as if the girl were trying to distance herself. Connie's normally expressive and infectious charm had been totally absent, causing Nicholas more than a little concern.

As the bus rounded the bend and stopped at the curb, Nicholas realized that he probably should have driven his own car to the coffeehouse for this rendezvous. He did have an automobile and, as a teacher, he now had parking privileges that hadn't existed when he'd been a student on this campus. But Nicholas had been taking the bus down to The Hub for more years than he cared to admit and old habits die hard. With a shrug, Nicholas climbed the steep stairs and slid into one of the ancient leather bench seats.

"How are things this evening, Roy?" Nicholas asked the bus driver. Roy had been driving a campus bus far longer than Nicholas had been riding them.

The paunchy older man grinned amiably. "It's been a little quiet tonight, Nicky. 'Suppose a lot of the kids have gone home for the long weekend."

Nicholas nodded in response. As the vehicle shuddered into motion, Nicholas smiled at the driver. Somewhat balding and carrying a spare tire around his middle, Roy bore a vague resemblance to Nicholas' father. To further amplify the illusion, the bus driver insisted upon using the boyish nickname that Nicholas had been given as a child.

Memories of his father brought a deep pang to Nicholas' soul. More than three years had past since George Stamatis had died and Nicholas had lost the only father he'd ever known. The grief had dulled with time, as had Nicholas's anger and disappointment. Yet none of these emotions had ceased completely.

At times, Nicholas missed his dad so much it took his breath away. But the loss was getting easier to live with. Nicholas was learning to accept it. Just as he was learning to accept that George Stamatis had not been his genetic sire.

Mere hours before his death, George Stamatis had revealed a long kept secret. Nicholas had learned that he was not who he had believed himself to be. Nicholas discovered that he had been born to his mother out-of-wedlock and adopted by this father years later. The shock and betrayal he had felt at this revelation had nearly cost Nicholas the last moments of his father's life.

It had been a stranger who had shown Nicholas the way. An aristocratic man with an oddly familiar face had appeared in Nicholas' life that day. Sydney had offered support without judgment, advice without censure and comfort without expectations. With a gentle logic and sincere concern, Sydney had defined fathers, explaining to Nicholas that no matter who had given him life, the father who raised him had loved him. His real father had always been and would always be George Stamatis.

In the end, Nicholas had been able to put aside his anger long enough to share a last few minutes with the man who had raised him. George Stamatis had died peacefully. Nicholas had wept bitterly at the loss of his father.

For several months afterward, Nicholas had taken his frustration and feelings of betrayal out on Sydney. By all accounts, Sydney had not known of Nicholas' existence until shortly before they'd met. Yet Nicholas had blamed the older man for his misery anyway. It had taken many months and a great deal of patience before a shaky truce had formed between them. Slowly but surely the two were becoming friends.

As Nicholas's destination came into view, he tugged on the cord to signal the driver. Standing before the bus began to slow, Nicholas swayed gently with the movement of the vehicle. Nicholas hurried from the bus as soon as it had stopped, the driver, his father and Sydney all forgotten in his eagerness to meet Connie.

Nicholas crossed the cobblestone courtyard in front of the coffee shop. With the weather as pleasant as it was tonight, it would have been nice to sit outdoors. But it was too early in the season. The dozen or so tables with their bright umbrellas would not be brought out of storage for another week or two.

Looking through the plate glass window, Nicholas could see a handful of patrons inside the shop. He could not immediately locate Connie, but that didn't cause any concern. He was a few minutes early and Constance Farren was notorious for her tardiness. She was consistently five minutes late for every class.

With a wry grin on his face, Nicholas rounded the corner toward the entrance. The door was located on the side of the building rather than at the front. The alley leading to the door was normally very well lit, but tonight Nicholas noted absently, one of the streetlights seemed to be burned out.

Nicholas approached the shop with a careless ease born of repetition. He had been here a thousand times before. He knew this place as well as he knew his own apartment. Perhaps if Nicholas had not been so intent on locating his pupil, he would have noticed the shadows moving in on him. But it was spring and he was a young man almost in love. He saw nothing, heard nothing, as he reached for the brass handle on the shop door.

A moment later the darkness fell over Nicholas. He was jerked away from the safety of the shop and dragged into the gloom. A rough and heavy piece of cloth was pressed against Nicholas' nose and mouth, stifling any cry he may have uttered. His briefcase clattered to the ground as Nicholas flailed against his attacker. Strong arms grabbed him around both legs and he felt himself supported against a strange broad chest.

The two men lifted Nicholas up and began to carry him away even before the drug soaked rag had completed its work. With his struggles weakening rapidly, Nicholas felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. His last coherent thought was of the girl he'd come to meet. Nicholas felt an absurd rush of joy when he realized that Connie had not been cold toward him in her message. The message had not come from her at all.

When Nicholas began to struggle into wakefulness, he became aware of his surroundings in fractured bits. Two pairs of large hands gripped him roughly around his biceps. The men didn't speak as they half dragged, half carried Nicholas across a paved expanse. Nicholas tried to open his eyes but his drug-heavy lids wouldn't cooperate. He caught a fuzzy glance of a deserted parking lot, darkness and shadows. It was still night but Nicholas had no way of knowing how late it was. For all he knew, a full twenty-fours may have passed since he had stepped off the bus in front of the coffee shop. Or perhaps it had only been twenty-four minutes.

Nicholas felt himself being hauled across a threshold and into a building of some kind. It sounded big. His footsteps echoed ominously. The metallic clang of a door closing behind him brought Nicholas closer to consciousness. With a shake of his head he tried to clear the cobwebs and regain his senses.

"He's coming 'round," a raspy voice murmured.

"Too late to do 'im any good," a second voice replied.

The trio approached a large door. Nicholas blinked blearily as one of the men pressed a series of buttons on a keyboard. With a click the door opened. But rather than take Nicholas through the door the men simply shoved him through it. Still off balance and disoriented, Nicholas could only stumble awkwardly as he tried to keep from falling on his face.

Landing on his hands and knees, Nicholas closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. The world seemed to be tilting from the effects of the drug, making Nicholas feel more than a little queasy. Nicholas heard the door close and he knew without looking that he had been locked in. The men were gone.

It took several minutes for Nicholas to fully wake. Once the spinning in his head had stopped, Nicholas' nausea began to diminish, leaving only a thudding headache in his temples. Pushing himself up, Nicholas rose from his knees to gaze around his prison.

The room was a barren square approximately thirty feet across. There was only one light, a single bulb burning from the ceiling about fifteen feet from the ground. The floor was cement, the walls an industrial gray. The door had no handle on this side. It was just a rectangle against the plain wall. Against the opposite wall there was a large square sink similar to those found in janitorial closets. There was no furniture, no window, not even an air vent to break the monotony of the place.

In the center of the room, crumpled directly beneath the dim bulb, there was a body. A tangle of leather and denim, arms and legs, the pile was undoubtedly a person. But it looked as though their captures had dumped the body there like a bag of trash.

"Hey," Nicholas croaked. He cleared his throat and spoke louder. "Are you okay?" Nicholas asked as he approached the man.

It was definitely a man, broad-shouldered and long-legged. The man was lying face down so that Nicholas had to reach around the man's neck to look for a pulse. Nicholas sighed with relief when he found a strong and steady heartbeat.

"Wake up." Nicholas tried again. He grabbed the man's shoulder and rolled him over. There was no resistance as the man rolled over with a boneless flop.

Nicholas gasped as he recognized the man. Shocks of long brown hair fell across the man's brow. His angular jaw was shadowed with stubble. Though the man's eyes were closed, Nicholas knew them to be a hard glittering brown.

Backing away cautiously, Nicholas ran his hands through his hair and tried to think. None of this made any sense. He'd been abducted by strangers and locked in a room with a dangerous man. A man Nicholas had only met once before.

"_Revenge is the great equalizer." _Nicholas remembered the words this man had spoken as he materialized from the shadows years ago. Like a phantom, this man had seemed to appear from nowhere. He had radiated menace, moving across the room with a catlike grace. The sense of danger that seemed to fill the room had little to do with the gun this man carried.

He had paid little attention to Nicholas. His focus had instead fallen upon Mr. Lyle. Nicholas had felt beholden to Mr. Lyle and wasn't anxious to leave his new friend's side. But Sydney had insisted.

"_Who the hell is this guy?" _Nicholas had demanded.

"_Someone we need to listen to," _was the only answer Sydney had given.

At his father's urging, Nicholas had left Mr. Lyle with this man. What happened after that, Nicholas didn't know. He hadn't seen either man again and Sydney refused to discuss the matter.

Now, Nicholas found himself a prisoner, much as he had been before. And once again, his path had crossed with the dark stranger he had met that day. But this time, Nicholas vowed, he would learn more. He would find out who this man was. At the very least, Nicholas was going to get his name.

End part 1


	2. Wake up

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

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**Burden of Truth pt2**

By Phenyx

05/13/2005

Jarod ached.

Every muscle in his body hurt. He tried to open his eyes, but the heavy lids seemed glued shut. It was difficult to swallow around his swollen and coated tongue. Jarod made a feeble attempt to roll over, barely registering the moan he made as he did so.

Forget it. He wasn't going to move an inch. At the moment, Jarod could not have cared less if the rest of the world was going to hell in a hand-basket. He felt like crap. He was going back to sleep and anyone who didn't like it could just kiss his back end.

"Are you okay?" A voice broke through Jarod's misery, the sound clamoring through his brain with the subtlety of a freight train. The tip of a leather shoe poked Jarod in the shoulder making him groan again.

With a weary sigh, Jarod forced his eyes to open. He slowly regained the use of his limbs, taking several minutes to push himself into a sitting position. Once he was finally able to focus his vision, Jarod glanced around the room and found that he was not alone.

"Hello," Jarod's companion said. "We meet again."

Jarod frowned. "Nicholas," he asked. "What are you doing here?"

The younger man shrugged. "Same as you I would guess. Two large men abducted me in an alley."

"Men in dark suits," Jarod said as he ran both hands through the hair on top of his head.

"I don't think so." Nicholas shook his head. "I had been drugged and was still a bit fuzzy when I was brought in. But I'm pretty sure at least one of them was wearing work boots. They made a heavy clunking sound when he walked."

Jarod's head snapped up in surprise and he immediately regretted it. An intense bout of vertigo struck with such ferocity that he saw stars. For a long moment, Jarod fought an overwhelming need to vomit. Confusion only added to Jarod's dizziness.

When Jarod's world had abruptly gone black some unknown length of time ago, he had assumed that The Centre had caught up to him. He'd been in a park on a sun-filled afternoon eating an ice cream cone. Children had been laughing on the swings nearby and the scene had been almost idyllic. Jarod hadn't seen anyone out of the ordinary. No one had approached him. Without warning, a sharp pain had pierced into his shoulder. There had been only enough time for Jarod's mind to register the feeling of a metal dart in his flesh. Then nothingness.

Heaving his body off the floor, Jarod swayed across the room toward the large sink. He slipped his jacket from his shoulders and allowed the leather to drop. When Jarod turned the sink's metal spigots, the faucet sputtered for a moment then began spewing rusty brown water. It took nearly a minute before the color began to change and another before the water was running clear. Cupping his hands together, Jarod drank then he bent over and stuck his head under the icy flow.

The lethargic, medicated feeling faded rapidly. Jarod straightened, shaking his head like a wet dog. The resulting headache was only a dull thud, not the screaming agony of a few minutes ago.

Ignoring Nicholas for the moment, Jarod gazed around the room with clearer eyes. This wasn't The Centre. After spending three decades within its walls, Jarod knew the very heartbeat of that place. The faint dustiness in the air of this room was not the same re-circulated sterility of The Centre's ventilation system. Nicholas' presence confirmed the theory. The Centre would never lock Jarod away with someone to keep him company.

Jarod bent over and retrieved his jacket. A quick inventory revealed that the pockets had been emptied. His watch was gone, as was the switchblade he'd had tucked in his boot.

"Do you know what's going on?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm as clueless as you are," Jarod replied as he pulled on his jacket.

The younger man crossed his arms in annoyance. "Not quite," he said. "You know my name."

"True."

"Are you going to tell me who you are?" Nicholas asked.

Jarod gazed intently at his cellmate. The deliberate stare continued in silence for so long that the younger man began to squirm uncomfortably. "No." Jarod finally answered.

"No?" Nicholas gasped.

"No," Jarod repeated firmly. "If Sydney didn't tell you, he obviously doesn't want you to know."

Nicholas pounced on that statement like a cat on a bird. "Sydney? You know Sydney?"

Without responding, Jarod turned his back on the other man and went to the door. He examined the panel carefully, running his fingertips along every crack. He heard Nicholas come nearer, but did nothing to acknowledge his presence.

"You have to at least tell me your name," Nicholas said.

Jarod turned and glared menacingly at the younger man. "I don't _have _to do anything," he growled. Nicholas took a wary step backward and Jarod belatedly became aware of his companion's tension. "I'm not going to hurt you," Jarod added.

The suspicious look in Nicholas' eyes did not change.

Jarod sighed with irritation. "My name is Jarod," he said. Volunteering his name was the least he could do for the poor guy. Nicholas had obviously been dragged into something way over his head, again. Jarod didn't need to make this any harder.

He supposed that if he wanted to, Jarod could make things easier for Nicholas, lighten things up a bit and ease his worries. But Jarod didn't want to. He couldn't quite put his finger on the reason for it, but Jarod had no desire to make this situation easier for the other man.

"So is Jarod your first name or your last name?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes," Jarod replied. He gave up on his inspection of the door and strode to the other side of the room. Putting his back to the wall, Jarod slid to the floor. He sat with his knees in the air and propped his forearms across them casually. He prepared himself for what could be a long wait.

Nicholas chose to lean against the wall to Jarod's left. He sat down too, crossing his legs Indian-style. "Are we just going to sit here and stare at each other?" Nicholas asked after a time.

"It would appear so," Jarod drawled.

Tilting his head thoughtfully Nicholas said, "You're not a very friendly character are you?"

Jarod frowned. "I can be extremely friendly when I want to be," he replied with indignation.

"But at the moment, you don't want to be."

"Not particularly," Jarod agreed.

Nicholas smirked. "Being kidnapped makes me cranky too."

"It can affect some people that way," Jarod said.

"We've met before," Nicholas continued. "You didn't seem too friendly then either."

Jarod shrugged. "Lyle has a knack for spoiling my genial nature."

"He seemed to be a likeable enough fellow," Nicholas said.

Frowning angrily Jarod hissed, "Yeah, he's a real charmer until he puts a bullet in you." Jarod sighed and tried to reign in his temper. "Look, can we just not talk? Circumstances have forced us together but that doesn't mean that we need to get chummy."

"I don't see why we can't be allies in this," Nicholas argued.

"We are not allies," Jarod snapped. Even as he said it, he wondered why he was so annoyed by the suggestion. "We are not friends. We are not now, nor will we ever be pals. You don't know me and I don't want to know you. Got it?"

"Got it," Nicholas replied in a subdued voice.

"Good."

Silence reigned for several minutes. Then Nicholas said, "You're angry with me. What have I done to make you so irate?"

Rather than answer, Jarod hopped to his feet and began to pace like a caged tiger.

"I don't even know you," Nicholas observed. "And yet you dislike me so much, you want to strangle me."

Jarod's prowling halted abruptly. "I wouldn't say it is that bad."

"Bad enough," Nicholas said. "It has nothing to do with the situation we find ourselves in. It is as if I have wounded you in some way, inadvertently perhaps. But you are definitely upset with me personally."

Jarod shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "You sound just like…" He stopped himself before finishing the sentence, quickly rephrasing the words he'd nearly uttered. "A shrink," he finished lamely.

"Sydney," Nicholas smiled. "You were going to say that I sound just like my father."

Jarod's stunned gaze bored into the younger man's eyes. A sudden insight, bordering on an epiphany, flashed in Jarod's mind. The truth of it crashed into Jarod, wrapping his heart in a crushing tightness. He knew now, why Nicholas' presence annoyed him this way.

Nicholas was an observant man. "This is about Sydney, isn't it?"

"It has nothing to do with you," Jarod said. He turned his back and resumed pacing.

"On the contrary," Nicholas disagreed. "I think it has a lot to do with me."

"This is between me and Sydney," Jarod growled. "It is none of your damn business."

Nicholas was quiet for a long time. Jarod paced, desperate to get rid of some of his frustration. Just when Jarod had begun to think that the other man was going to leave it alone, Nicholas spoke again. "Are you my brother?" he asked.

Jarod flinched. A kick in the stomach would have been kinder. Jarod's knees buckled and he flopped into a sitting position on the floor. Glaring dejectedly at nothing, Jarod allowed his long hair to hide his face, veiling his pain from the other man. Slowly, with resignation, Jarod shook his head.

"No," he whispered. Jarod left the rest of the thought unspoken. '_But how I wish it had been so.'_

Jarod's soft response was still hanging in the air when there was a loud click. The door swung open soundlessly and the topic of their discussion stumbled into the room. Sydney, pushed through the door by unseen hands, was forced to pinwheel his arms to keep himself upright. Directly behind him, almost stepping on Sydney's heels, was Miss Parker. She had been bound about the wrists with what appeared to be her own scarf.

Miss Parker crashed gracelessly into Sydney's back but she recovered quickly. Whirling in the direction from which she had come, Miss Parker threw herself at the door. As the exit slammed shut in her face, Miss Parker pounded her fists on it in fury.

"DAMN!" She screamed.

Jarod shook his head in baffled wonder. "Well now, isn't this a special occasion," he drawled.

Miss Parker glared at him. "Jarod?" she gasped. "What the hell is going on?"

"What makes you think I would know?" he replied.

Miss Parker strode to Sydney's side and thrust her hands at him, silently demanding that he untie her wrists. As Sydney complied she said, "I assume you are behind this sick little game."

"I thought you were," Jarod told her.

"Not hardly," she growled as she rubbed at her wrists.

"Well then," Jarod observed. "It looks as though we might be in a bit of trouble. Doesn't it?"

**End part2**


	3. Exposed

**Disclaimer:** See chapter 1

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**Burden of Truth pt3**  
By Phenyx  
05/20/2005

"Nicholas." Sydney moved toward his son. "Are you okay? Have you been injured in any way?"

The young man shook his head. "No, Sydney. I'm fine."

Jarod bolted from his position on the floor and resumed his angry pacing. He stayed to the far side of the room, whirling with military precision when he reached one wall and heading directly for the other. He glanced up to see Miss Parker running her fingers along the edges of the locked door.

"I've already examined that," Jarod grumped.

Miss Parker shot him an acidic look over her shoulder. "I'd like to check for myself if you don't mind," she snapped.

Jarod shrugged. "It's your time to waste."

For the next several minutes, Miss Parker surveyed the surroundings. Jarod continued his prowling. Nicholas and Sydney, both sensing the tension in the room, chose to remain silent for a time.

Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Miss Parker sighed. "I give up. How are we going to get out of here?"

Jarod was surprised when he realized that she expected him to answer. "I don't know," he exclaimed.

"You're the one that always has a back up plan," Miss Parker argued.

Heaving a deep sigh, Jarod ran one hand through his hair. "I didn't expect to be here," he said. "I don't have a plan, let alone a back up."

"Well," Miss Parker told him. "Think of one."

"Are you kidding?" Jarod gaped at the lovely woman before him. "Do you honestly believe that I can just pull this kind of thing out of my rear-end? Escapes like this take research, planning and hours, perhaps days, of preparation."

Miss Parker crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "You always make it look easy," she said with a smirk.

"It takes a lot of work to make it look so simple." Jarod's pacing stopped and he took a pose that mirrored Miss Parker's.

"You didn't need to expend so much effort on my account," Miss Parker said.

"I gather that you two know each other," Nicholas interrupted from across the room.

"Forgive my manners," Sydney said. Taking Nicholas by the arm Sydney guided the young man to Miss Parker's side. "Miss Parker, my son, Nicholas," Sydney introduced them. "Nicholas, this is Miss Parker. We work together."

Miss Parker nodded in acknowledgement, but did not shake the hand Nicholas offered.

"Have you worked with my father long, Miss Parker?" Nicholas asked.

"Seems like forever," she replied.

Nicholas smiled. "So what do you do for a living?" If the young man noticed the sudden bristling of tension in the room, he did not show it.

"Must we indulge in small talk?" Jarod growled.

Miss Parker ignored him. "I'm a trouble shooter," she said with a long-practiced ease. "I solve problems for my company."

Jarod made a rude noise from his position against the far wall.

"Jarod, please." Sydney begged in a near whisper.

"Don't worry," Jarod said in a taunting voice. "I'm not going to tell him anything."

Nicholas stepped forward as his frustration began to show. "Isn't anyone going to fill me in? It is no fun being the only one in the dark."

Jarod pushed away from the wall and glared at the younger man. "You have no idea what darkness is boy," he snarled.

"Jarod," Sydney said in a scolding tone. "There is no need to be antagonistic."

Jarod laughed, a bitter, taunting sound. "What would you suggest, Sydney? I know. Let's have a picnic and we can all become great friends. Then we can time it to see how long it takes before he gets a bullet in the head."

"Nice," Miss Parker drawled. "Good tone, with just the right amount of vindictiveness and scorn. On the Parker family scale of cruelty I'd have to give it a six."

Jarod's reaction to Miss Parker's words was immediate. He flinched as if he'd been struck and bowed his head dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Miss Parker," he replied huskily.

Gazing across the room, Miss Parker felt a wave of déjà vu. It was no longer the wayward pretender standing before her. The merry prankster who insisted upon torturing her had vanished. Instead, Miss Parker found herself facing the wide-eyed, wounded boy from her childhood. No matter how many times Miss Parker saw it happen, moments like this always surprised her. The ease with which Jarod's emotions could surface shocked her every time.

Miss Parker crossed the room in three long strides. "There is no time for this," she said softly. As she continued her voice grew stronger and sharper. "We can't afford to wallow in the past, in what could have been." Reaching out, she grabbed Jarod's chin with her fingers, roughly jerking him up to look her in the face. "Do you hear me? I need you to focus." She shook him for emphasis.

Jarod nodded slowly.

"Good." Miss Parker released her hold on Jarod's chin so that she could poke him in the chest instead. "I'm counting on you to get us out of here."

Jarod nodded again.

Miss Parker watched as Jarod morphed from one state of being into another. She could see the split-second struggle it took him to bury his pain. With a deep breath, Jarod banished the grief from his dark brown eyes and replaced it with a fathomless vacuity. A moment later, Jarod crossed his arms and casually leaned against the wall. His grace and nonchalance was more indicative of someone waiting on a street corner than of a man recently abducted.

"Any thoughts?" Miss Parker asked after several minutes of silence.

"Sure," Jarod answered. "I'm thinking you've worn the wrong outfit today."

"Why?" Miss Parker asked. She glanced down at her gray suit. The long jacket flared down to her knees. The pants had a crisp pleat down the front ending at her ankles. The cuffed hems were high enough to accentuate her matching Ferragamos.

The mischievous twinkle in Jarod's eyes should have been adequate warning. "Seeing as we're going to be stuck in here for only God knows how long," Jarod grinned. "The least you could have done is wear a skirt."

Miss Parker blinked at him in confusion.

The playful smile broadened. "I could have whiled away the hours admiring the view." Jarod disregarded Miss Parker's indignant gasp. "You do have nice legs," he added matter-of-factly.

"Any _relevant _observations about our situation, Pez-head?" Miss Parker snapped.

Jarod looked around the room. "Well, the room isn't airtight," he began. "Otherwise it would be getting stuffy by now. So we won't suffocate."

"Nice to know," Miss Parker said.

"Water from the sink is drinkable," Jarod went on. "I tried it earlier and have had no adverse effects. If no one comes to check on us, food could become a problem. It takes about three weeks to starve to death."

"Unless we have a repeat of the Donner party," Miss Parker commented.

With a frown Jarod asked, "Donner Party?"

"Look it up," was her reply.

"Any idea why we've all been brought here?" Sydney asked from the corner.

Jarod raised his eyebrows at his mentor. "I was going to ask you the same question," he said. "You, Sydney, are the centerpiece of this puzzle."

"Me?" the older man gasped. "I have no clue what is going on here."

Jarod shrugged. "Perhaps," he said. "But you are the focus all the same."

"Why do you say that, Jarod?" Miss Parker asked. She knew the man well enough to know that Jarod wouldn't make rash accusations.

"What else do we three have in common?" Jarod observed. "You, me and Nicholas? Now there are plenty of enemies that may want you and me both locked away. That list is as long as my arm. But Nicholas?"

"I don't understand." The younger man spoke.

"Each of us," Jarod explained. "Has played an important role in Sydney's life. The only connection we three share is Sydney."

Miss Parker asked, "Have we learned all your secrets, Syd? Or is there still a skeleton or two in your closet?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Miss Parker," Sydney replied. "I've told you everything I could."

"An ambiguous response from our favorite shrink. Why am I not surprised?" Miss Parker drawled sarcastically.

"I'm sure we'll find out what's going on eventually," Jarod said. "Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to bring us here. Sooner or later, our host will arrive to gloat. We just need to be patient."

Miss Parker huffed with irritation. "Patience is not my strongest virtue, Jarod."

"No kidding," he observed. Shrugging Jarod added, "I've learned to have it in excess. I'll share."

"So, we're just going to sit here and wait?" Nicholas asked.

"That's the plan," Jarod agreed.

Miss Parker shot him a wary glance. "Not much of a plan, Lab-rat."

"I'm having an off day. Sue me."

End Part 3


	4. Betrayal

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

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Burden of Truth pt4

By Phenyx

05/23/2005

It was night. In the windowless room there was no natural light with which to determine the time. But it had gotten much colder over the last couple of hours. The drop in temperature indicated that the sun had gone down outside.

Miss Parker sat on the floor with her back to the wall. She hugged her knees to her chest in an effort to keep the chill away. Jarod sat only a couple of feet away. His head was bowed low and his arms were folded across his chest as he dozed.

Fidgeting quietly, Miss Parker eased a fraction of an inch closer to the sleeping man. She was close enough to pick up a faint sensation of warmth from his direction. Jarod seemed to radiate heat like a furnace, luring Miss Parker nearer still.

"If you want my coat, just ask," Jarod spoke suddenly. He kept his voice low so as not to wake Sydney or Nicholas.

Miss Parker flinched in surprise. Jarod had not moved and looked as though he was still asleep. Just as Miss Parker was beginning to think she had imagined his voice, Jarod turned and gazed at her with dark, expectant eyes.

He smiled sadly. "You can't bring yourself to ask even that of me, can you?" Jarod asked.

"I'm fine," Miss Parker told him.

"You're cold," Jarod said. "You don't have to be. But you'd rather shiver than admit that I might be able to help you."

"Jarod," Miss Parker began. Jarod cut her off with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh. He straightened enough to pull his arms out of his jacket. Then he leaned toward her and tossed the leather over Miss Parker like a blanket.

Without another word, Jarod stood up and stretched. He hugged his arms around himself and yawned. For several minutes, Jarod simply stood in the middle of the room. He didn't seem to be doing anything in particular, just standing.

Miss Parker watched him wordlessly. The warmth of Jarod's coat was a great relief, comforting and safe. Without realizing it was happening, Miss Parker allowed her eyes to close and she was lulled to sleep by the security she was feeling.

It seemed like only moments later when Miss Parker abruptly snapped awake. She immediately realized that she had not rested for long. Jarod was still standing sentinel where Miss Parker had seen him last. But now, his body was rigid with tension and his head was cocked to one side. Miss Parker had sensed Jarod's sudden alertness and the change in him had woken her.

Miss Parker opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong but Jarod hushed her with a glance. He glided silently across the room and crouched beside the closed door as sounds of movement approached. When the door made a loud click, Miss Parker stood.

The next few moments occurred very quickly. The door swung open and a man with a rifle began to enter. Jarod, hidden behind the opening portal, grabbed the barrel of the gun and used it as a pivot point. With a speed that made him little more than a blur of color, Jarod whirled. The man was yanked off balance and thrown into the wall where Jarod pounced on him. There was a sickening crunch as Jarod bounced the other man's face against the hard surface of the concrete wall.

Another man entered the room. Miss Parker lunged at him while yelling a warning to Jarod at the same time. But it was to no avail. She could not stop the second man before he pulled back the butt of his shotgun and hit Jarod. The wood thudded into the back of Jarod's head and he went down hard.

Jarod's world went gray at the edges as he clutched at his skull. He fought to remain conscious, struggling even more when the grayness faded and was replaced by stars. Grimacing with pain, Jarod rolled on the floor, vaguely aware of the voices around him.

"Son of a bitch," the second man cried as he leaned over his fallen partner.

"Jarod!" Sydney and Miss Parker gasped in unison. Miss Parker reached Jarod first and knelt beside him.

A third man entered the room. He was much older than the first two and had long, dirty gray hair that was pulled into a loose ponytail. The man was thin but muscular, wiry like a scarecrow. His hawkish nose had an odd crookedness to it. It had obviously been broken at least once.

He glared down at the bleeding man on the floor, still unconscious from Jarod's attack. "Is he dead?" the older man asked.

"No," was the reply. "But his jaw is broke for sure."

"Idiot deserves worse," the older man said calmly. "I told you that Jarod would be the first one to try something." The old man stepped over his fallen mate and crouched beside Jarod. Holding his shotgun across his lap with one hand, the man grasped Jarod's chin with the other. "This one has a strong survival instinct," the man continued.

Jarod pulled away from the other man's touch. He instinctively disliked this man. A strange spark in the man's eyes made Jarod's stomach squirm.

Smiling with amusement, the man stood up. "This will be quite interesting," he said. "I wonder how far the boy will go to survive."

"Who are you?" Miss Parker demanded as she rose to her feet. "And why have you brought us here?"

"The good doctor here hasn't told you about me?" the man asked with a sarcastic grin. He turned toward Sydney as he continued to speak. "I'm surprised, Jacob. Have you never entertained your children with the tale?"

Sydney shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sir. But there has been a mistake. My name is Sydney. My brother's name was Jacob. We were twins."

"I know who you are," the man growled. His eyes narrowed as he glared at Sydney. "You don't recognize me." The man laughed in an eerily humorless tone.

"I'm afraid not," Sydney admitted.

The pain in Jarod's head had faded to a dull throbbing but he chose to remain on the floor. He watched the two older men carefully, ready to leap to Sydney's defense should the need arise. Miss Parker stood nearby equally prepared to rush to her old friend's side. Nicholas, completely out of his element, could only look on in befuddled wonder.

"Does the name Ravenhurst mean anything to you?" the old man asked as he twirled the shotgun in his hand.

Sydney swallowed reflexively and stepped back.

The old man nodded. "I see that it does," he said softly.

With a nervous lick of his lips Sydney began, "You've confused me with my brother."

"I KNOW who you are!" The old man screamed. Rage suddenly erupted from the gray-haired being. "I was THERE! I SAW what you did!" he roared. "There was no accident. I planted the device that made the car swerve off the road. I tried to kill you as you had tried to kill me!"

"No," Sydney gasped.

"YES!" The other man raved on. His laughter rose maniacally. "Fate has such a twisted sense of irony, does she not?" he said. "The fire you set in my home did not take my life. But instead it murdered my wife and son. The boy would have been three years old the next day. Did you know that?

DID YOU?" Ravenhurst hollered.

"My brother," Sydney whispered, shaking his head frantically.

Ravenhurst shook his head. "I missed, just as you had." He went on. "And another car arrived on the scene before I could rectify my mistake. It is true that your twin was badly wounded in the incident. But Sydney was not the brother who walked away from the car that night."

"No," Sydney repeated. He held his hands up, palms outward, as though he could ward off the other man's words.

"Oh, but you were good," Ravenhurst pressed on. "You knew that your days were numbered. The Centre had marked you as expendable. Someone had your number in their pocket the way you had carried mine. Switching places with your brother was your only chance. If I had not seen it myself, no one would ever have known."

"You're wrong," Sydney said.

Ravenhurst laughed. "I was watching from the tree-line!" he cried. "I even followed you to the hospital. I would have finished you then but the police caught up to me." The old man nodded sadly. "Oh yes, you were very good. You'd left just enough evidence at the fire to incriminate me. You framed me for the deaths of my family.

I have spent the last thirty years planning my revenge upon you, Jacob," Ravenhurst said. "Three decades in prison have allowed me a long, long time to ponder the problem. I will have my retribution. I will have your life. But not before you have suffered as I did."

The old man made a sweeping gesture at the other three captives. "I have brought you here Jacob, to watch them die," Ravenhurst said. "The child of your flesh, the child of your heart, and the child you have sworn to protect. All will lie at your feet, cold and bloodless."

"Please no," Sydney begged.

"I shall grant you a favor, Jacob," Ravenhurst continued. "In deference to our old acquaintance." He smiled cruelly. "You may choose the first."

Sydney's eyes grew wide. "What?" he gasped.

Ravenhurst shrugged. "Pick the one who will die first."

"No."

"Yes," Ravenhurst demanded in an icy tone. "You will choose. I shall return in three hours at which time you will tell me which of these children is to lead the others into the afterlife. If you refuse, I will rape the girl, castrate the boys and force you to pick anyway."

"You're mad," Sydney hissed.

"Quite," Ravenhurst agreed. "It is a prerequisite of Centre employ, is it not?" With a nod to his henchman, Ravenhurst ordered that the fallen man be dragged away. A moment later, the door slammed shut leaving the four prisoners alone once more.

A heavy silence filled the room as the group stared at one another in shock. It was Miss Parker who acted first. Her high heels clicking sharply as she stepped up to the psychiatrist.

"Is it true?" she asked in brittle single syllables.

"Miss Parker," her old friend began. "I can explain."

"Is it true?" Her voice rose as she repeated the question.

"You don't understand," he exclaimed.

"Are you Sydney?" Miss Parker cried.

The older man shrugged. "I have been for many, many years."

"LIAR!" With a scream, Miss Parker launched herself at her target. She shoved him against the wall and began flailing blindly. "Liar, liar, liar!" She made contact more than once, her small fists doing noticeable damage. In her rage, she could see nothing, hear nothing. She knew nothing but the bitter betrayal that burned through her veins. Another loved one had lied to her.

Suddenly there was a band of steel around her waist and a well-muscled arm hauled her away. Miss Parker kicked and screamed incoherently as she was dragged off of her stunned victim. Instinct drove her, urging her to lash out with all the fury she was feeling within. She wanted to fight but the arm around her middle was joined by another across her shoulders. She was pinned against a wall of sinew. Struggling fruitlessly, Miss Parker arched her back and cried out in despair.

It was the smallest of sounds that brought her back to her senses. Somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, the noise was so soft as to barely register as such. And yet, in that strangled intake of air was an eternity's worth of anguish.

Miss Parker slumped limply as the fight drained from her body. She twisted in Jarod's arms and buried her face in his shirt. When the tears came, they were quiet heart-wrenching sobs. They clung to one another, Jarod and Miss Parker, as they wallowed in the pain of this newest revelation.

Miss Parker was only vaguely aware of the cement wall at her back. She was pressed into a corner as Jarod hunched protectively over her. She could feel Jarod trembling. Some part of her mind registered the fact that he was crying soundlessly.

Miss Parker was amazed at his silence. How often had Jarod grieved in this manner? How many times had he wept without a sound, with no outward sign save for this slight shivering of his body? To hide his misery from the cameras, Jarod had learned to attain this small measure of privacy.

"Jarod?" The voice, heavily laden with its Belgian accent, was gravelly and woeful.

"Please don't," Jarod whispered in a deceptively calm tone. "Don't." Still holding Miss Parker close, Jarod turned to gaze mournfully at his old mentor. "Don't tell us more lies, Sydney." He gasped in pain for a moment then rephrased the statement. "Whoever you are, please don't lie to us anymore."

End part 4


	5. Collateral Damage

**Disclaimer**: See chapter 1 

**Author's Note: **LJP asked "does this come from any episode or is it purely ff?" I tend to assume everyone has seen all the episodes of The Pretender because, well, I have and I'm writing for my own entertainment for the most part. So, for those readers who may not have the background, I will explain.

Yes, some of this story's plot comes from the tP episodes. Sydney and his brother Jacob were involved in a car crash on August 2nd, 1967. According to the series, this accident caused Jacob to lapse into a 30-year coma. During the episode "Jarod's Honor", information is found that suggests that the car crash may not have been an accident. It is also tP cannon that Sydney has a son named Nicholas.

That is where the actual episode information ends. The twin swap is fanfic as is the character Ravenhurst.

Sydney has always freaked me out a bit. I mean, what kind of lunatic keeps a child locked up for three decades even if it is "for his best interests". It always struck me as odd that Sydney could be so nurturing in one episode and in the next, he's cold-bloodedly contemplating murder. (He did attempt to kill Raines. He set a bomb in the sublevels. He plotted with Lyle to get out of Renewal wing. And he kept Catherine Parker's faked suicide a secret for decades.) It all made me wonder what else he was hiding.

But, that is not to say that Jacob taking Sydney's place was an original idea of my own. A plot involving a twin taking the other's place is an ages-old, hackneyed cliché. In all probability, if The Pretender had aired for a few more seasons, Steve and Craig would have gone there too.

Enough rambling. Let's get on with the tale.

* * *

**Burden of Truth pt5**

By Phenyx 06/03/2005

"You can let go now," Miss Parker said with a sniffle. "I won't hurt him."

Jarod hesitated for a moment, tensing as though he wanted to defy her wishes. Then he abruptly dropped his arms from around Miss Parker's waist and ended their brief embrace. He took a step backward, increasing the distance between them, and cleared his throat.

Miss Parker chose to ignore Jarod's embarrassment. She wiped her tear-damp cheeks on her sleeve and disregarded Jarod's awkward fidgeting. He seemed unsure of what to do with his hands. Within minutes, he had run through a half dozen positions, finally ending with his arms wrapped around his chest as he hugged himself.

Straightening regally, Miss Parker glared at the gray-haired man before her and demanded, "Well?" She took a step forward. "You said you could explain."

"Perhaps now is not the best time," he answered as he cast a meaningful look in Nicholas' direction.

"Now," Jarod said. "Nicholas ought to know. He deserves to know why he was raised by another father."

The older man shook his head. "But the knowledge could place him in great danger."

Jarod looked pointedly around the barren room. "It appears to be too late to prevent that."

With a sigh, the psychiatrist gazed from one expectant face to the next. Nodding in resignation he took a deep breath and began. "There is no name for the job I held then. I was a finder of things, many kinds of things."

Jarod shivered. A bolt of ice ran down his spine as he remembered another man who had referred to himself in the same way. Mr. White had said that he was a finder of things, with missing families as his niche. The mere thought that a beloved mentor had held that same position made Jarod's blood run cold.

"It was little things at first," the older man went on. "Petty illegalities done for the greater good. I could convince myself that the things I did weren't wrong, as long as they were done for the right reasons."

"A skill you've excelled at over the years," Miss Parker interjected.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Extortion, espionage and political manipulation were all in my resume. But my specialty was in acquiring test subjects. Children mostly. In those days it was simple. A well-dressed couple with enough cash could walk into an over crowded orphanage and leave the same day with a child in tow. In certain poverty-stricken areas of the country one could buy a child from its parents."

"My god." The whispered gasp came from Nicholas.

Without pause, the narrative continued. "It seemed as though we were taking these children from poor environments and relocating them to a better place. The rooms I had seen were all colorful areas with plenty of toys and educational opportunities. Children played in the corridors.

It was several years before I discovered that these rooms were only for display. Clients were paraded through these rooms to see how delightful and well behaved the children were. Potential customers were never shown the other accommodations."

Miss Parker cast a furtive glance at Jarod. She remembered her own reaction to the separate rooms Jarod had occupied at The Centre. The first, the "display" area, had been quite nice. Colorful, well furnished and carpeted, the area had been full of books and assorted trinkets. Parker later learned that Jarod had never been permitted to touch anything in that room except the computer.

"By the time they had changed the rules on me, I was in too deep to escape."

"Changed the rules?" Miss Parker asked with a frown.

"The criteria were narrowed. Rather than just finding any child, I was sent after very specific targets. I became a stalker. An abductor."

"It was you," Jarod whispered. "All these years, it was you."

"Yes," was the solemn reply. "I was the one who brought you to The Centre."

Miss Parker watched Jarod's reactions cautiously. There was no telling how the pretender would react to this news. She expected rage, shock or bitter tears. But Jarod showed none of these. Instead, he seemed bewildered and lost. He was subdued, abnormally quiet in a way that worried her.

"I did try to leave," the older man vowed. "But my brother had been snared by The Centre as well. They were using him to keep me in line. During the next couple of years, things disintegrated even further. I voiced my objections, as did a few others. Your mother, Miss Parker, was among them."

"It got her killed," Miss Parker pointed out.

"Not until a few years later. I never held the influence that Catherine did. Her position as the chairman's wife protected her for a time. I, however, quickly became more of a hindrance than an asset. I told my brother that we needed to leave, that we were in danger. But he wouldn't go. Couldn't leave the project he said."

"Me," Jarod said with a nod.

"You." The older man smiled sadly. "He never understood what he had. To him it was research, nothing more. I envied him. I envied his ability to remain blind to the evil around him. I begrudged him the hours he spent concerned with nothing but this single incredible boy."

"So when the chance presented itself," Miss Parker said. "You stole the life that should have been your brother's."

"What was I to do? I believed that my brother had fallen victim to a Centre contract, a contract on my life, not his. If The Centre had realized that I had survived, someone else would have finished the job. And who would have taken care of my invalid twin, then?" With a gentle sigh, the accented voice softened. "Stepping into my brother's shoes was so easy. The life he had led was so much simpler."

Miss Parker scoffed. "It was easier to delude yourself again. You allowed yourself to believe it was for the greater good."

"Did you kill them?" Nicholas asked quietly. "Ravenhurst's wife and child?"

"My conscience carries a heavy burden," was all the psychiatrist would say.

Nicholas frowned. "Are you really my father? Or are you just an uncle?" he wondered aloud.

The older man crossed the room. "You are my son," he promised, grasping Nicholas by the arms. "I met your mother half a decade after the car crash. By then, I had begun to forget that I had ever been anyone else."

"What should I call you?" Nicholas asked with a confused shaking of his head.

"I am Sydney," was the reply. "The man I was, the man Jacob was, has been gone for a very long time." He turned to gaze solemnly at Jarod. "Somewhere along the way, I lost that person. In pretending to be my brother for so many years, I succeeded in becoming him."

"A pretend only swallows you whole if you allow it to, Sydney," Jarod said with quiet conviction.

Shrugging the older man answered. "I allowed it. I welcomed it."

His dark brown eyes filled with moisture as Jarod shook his head in denial. "You weren't pretending," he said. "You were lying to us."

"That is semantics, Jarod." Sydney gazed at his protégé sadly. "There really isn't any difference."

"Yes there is!" Jarod cried. His voice rose in anger as he continued. "Lying is dishonest. You lied about who you are. If I don't know who you are, how am I to define myself? You made me!"

A long moment passed in silence. Nicholas looked from one face to another as he processed this information and he began to connect the pieces. "Those children. What happened to the children acquired as test subjects?" No one spoke so he answered the question himself. "Jarod, you were one of those children. Weren't you?"

Jarod shrugged in response.

"How long?" Nicholas asked. "How long did they keep you there?"

"A long time," Jarod admitted. "Sydney raised me, trained me to do many things for The Centre."

"And you, Miss Parker," Nicholas went on. "Were you another of The Centre's children?"

Parker's response was sharp. "The Centre doesn't own me," she snapped.

"But it does own me?" Jarod asked bitterly. He shook his head.

Viciously stabbing her finger against Jarod's chest Miss Parker snarled, "It is where you belong. And I will take you back."

"I am not chattel!" Jarod yelled at her. "I won't go back there. Not ever. You'll have to kill me first."

"That can be arranged," Miss Parker hissed.

"Miss Parker," Sydney cried in a scolding tone. "Jarod. Please, our situation is dire enough without having the two of you at one another's throats. We need to work together if we are to survive."

Jarod scoffed. "Survival precludes working together," he snarled. "Our goals are mutually exclusive."

"What do you mean?" Nicholas asked.

"My survival is at stake every day of my life." Jarod laughed bitterly. "It is a constant battle for freedom. Their jobs," he jerked his head toward Miss Parker and Sydney. "Are to deny me that right."

"Your freedom will become a mute point. We'll all be dead and past caring," Miss Parker said with a grimace. "If we don't figure out a way to get out of here."

"I'm working on it," Jarod replied in exasperation. Groaning with frustration, Jarod turned and stomped to the far corner of the room. Like a petulant child he dropped to the floor and sat with his back against the wall.

Nicholas cautiously approached, easing down to sit beside Jarod as if the tall man were a wild thing that could turn on him without warning. After several minutes had passed with no attack, Nicholas spoke. "Ravenhurst will be back soon. What are we going to do?"

Jarod sighed. "We wait for an opportunity," he said.

"What if the opportunity does not come before one of us gets shot?" Nicholas asked.

"Those who are left will take it."

Nicholas stared at Jarod. The frankness of the other man astounded him. Jarod was sitting there, calmly discussing the possibility that someone was about to die.

Jarod understood the younger man's concern. "Survival, Nicholas," Jarod said. "We are extremely adept at it. You will need to learn very quickly." Jarod sighed as he watched Nicholas' eyes grow wide with trepidation. "Don't worry," he went on. "Sydney won't let Ravenhurst harm you."

Nicholas shot a glance at Miss Parker.

Jarod noticed the look and shook his head. "And I won't allow harm to come to her," he vowed. He kept his voice low so that only Nicholas could hear.

This comment took Nicholas by surprise. "But I thought," he began. "I mean, the two of you were just…I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Jarod admitted. The self-depreciating tone in his voice was dripping with irony. "Neither do I. But she is the one truth I still have in my life. And I will do whatever it takes to protect what I believe in."

**End part 5.**


	6. At the Hour of our Death

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry that I'm not posting very frequently. But in the last four weeks I have participated in three family birthdays (one of them my own), celebrated a twentieth wedding anniversary (again, my own), attended four graduation ceremonies and thrown a graduation party for my youngest. (This party was held in my home requiring much cleaning and cooking on my part.) Add to this the fact that I've recently been promoted at work and have had to transition out of one role and into another. Real life has been a tad hectic.

However, there has been an advantage to the delay on this story. When I started chapter one, the method of escape for our intrepid band was, admittedly, kind of lame. But, while cleaning and repainting my bathroom, this much better idea miraculously came to me.

That being said, I apologize for being so slow. But trust me when I say that this story is much better as a result. You just shouldn't rush the muse.

* * *

**Burden of Truth Part6**

By Phenyx

06/13/05

"It is nearly time," Jarod said with a sigh. He still sat on the floor with his wrists propped on his knees. His head leaned back against the wall as he stared at the ceiling.

"How can you tell?" Nicholas asked.

"I've been keeping track," Jarod answered.

Nicholas waited for the other man to continue. When no other information seemed forthcoming, Nicholas frowned. "Keeping track how?"

Jarod raised his head and blinked at Nicholas in confusion. "By tallying the seconds as they pass," Jarod replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've be counting the seconds for three hours?"

"Two hours and fifty-five minutes," Jarod corrected as he stood. He casually brushed off the seat of his pants and looked down at Nicholas expectantly. A moment later he added, "Fifty-six minutes."

Nicholas slowly rose to stand beside Jarod. "How can you do that?"

"How can you not?" Jarod tilted his head to one side in curiosity.

"Franken-rat is talented," Miss Parker drawled. "He can walk and chew bubblegum at the same time too."

"Yes," Jarod said with a smile. "I can."

"Multi-tasking is one of our boy's inherent skills," Miss Parker added.

"Tracking time and distance while I jog is a bit more difficult," Jarod continued with a jaunty grin. "Especially if I'm monitoring my heartbeat at the same time."

"You're kidding," Nicholas gasped.

Sydney spoke. "I assure you, Nicholas," he interrupted. "Jarod is more than capable of doing exactly what he claims."

"Because I'm smarter than the average bear," Jarod said calmly.

"What?" Miss Parker turned and glared at the pretender.

Jarod grinned. "I love the Cartoon Network," he said. "There's this bear and he loves picnic baskets. And his best friend is this little bear named…"

"Jarod!" Miss Parker's voice growled an icy warning.

"Boo-Boo," Jarod finished. His dark eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Someone's coming," Sydney informed them from his position near the door.

Jarod's playfulness vanished and the look on his face grew hard. As both Miss Parker and Sydney bristled defensively Jarod spared a quick glance at Nicholas. "If you see a chance to escape," Jarod commanded. "You take it. Don't wait for us. Don't look back, just run."

Nicholas nodded in understanding.

The door opened and the goon with the shotgun entered. Motioning with the barrel of the gun, he herded the four captives into one corner of the room. Behind him came Ravenhurst, armed with a pistol in one hand. Tucked into his leather belt was a long, fierce looking knife. The man Jarod had wounded earlier did not appear.

"Well, Jacob?" Ravenhurst said. "What is your decision? Which shall go first?"

Sydney shook his head. "I can't choose. I won't."

The wiry old man smiled coldly. "You only make it more difficult for them, Jacob. If you choose, I promise to make it quick," he said. "Force me to make the choice and I promise you, it will be long and painful."

"I can't." Sydney's voice wavered.

"Fine." Ravenhurst spoke in a level tone, with no sign of emotion. He raised his gun and pointed it at Miss Parker. "Ladies first."

"NO!" Jarod hollered. He dove forward just before the shot rang out. His body collided with Miss Parker's as he desperately tried to push her out of harm's way.

Of what happened next, Jarod wasn't quite sure. One moment he was twisting Miss Parker away from danger and in the next he was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. He heard a gasp, realizing belatedly that the sound had come from him.

"Jarod!" Miss Parker cried.

"Oh," Jarod whispered, wide-eyed with surprise. Low on his right side, Jarod could feel a searing heat. It didn't hurt yet. Adrenaline was blocking any pain. Hot metal had pierced flesh low on Jarod's hip, just above his pelvic bone. As good a place as any to get shot, he supposed. No internal organs there. Jarod noticed with an odd detachment that the pocket of his jeans was filling with blood.

Miss Parker knelt at Jarod's side. "Idiot," she growled at him. "What were you trying to do?" With trembling fingers she pushed aside Jarod's jacket and lifted his t-shirt. The bullet hole in his jeans was barely visible against the black denim but Miss Parker could distinguish the dark moist stain as blood began to ooze forth.

Jarod wasn't wearing a belt. As Miss Parker quickly unfastened the button on his jeans, Jarod tried to stop her. "Wait," he tried to say. But the sound came out as a strangled croak. The zipper on his fly went down and Jarod found himself desperately trying to remember which pair of underwear he'd put on that morning.

Laughter bubbled from him as Jarod realized the ridiculousness of his predicament. He was lying on the floor, bleeding all over Miss Parker's twelve hundred dollar suit. Standing over him was a maniac with a gun who seemed bent on murder. And in spite of all that, Jarod was worried about whether he had chosen to wear briefs or boxers today.

As Miss Parker eased the denim away from his wound, Jarod lifted his head to check out the undergarment situation. He couldn't help it. It suddenly seemed to be of vital importance now that Miss Parker was privy to the information.

"Lie back," Miss Parker snapped at him. She gently prodded the flesh around the injury. "It's not so bad," she said. "Small caliber." Tucking her fingertips in the waistband of his pants, Parker felt around Jarod's hip and eased her hand down the curve of his back.

Miss Parker's cool touch at the small of his back made Jarod catch his breath. The feathery softness caressed the upper swell of his right buttocks. '_Worth getting shot_,' Jarod thought to himself as his eyelids fluttered closed.

"There's no exit wound," Miss Parker told him. "Jarod? Are you still with me?"

Jarod opened his eyes, reluctantly letting go of the sensation of Parker's touch. "Yeah," he replied.

Sydney, kneeling at Jarod's side opposite Miss Parker, passed her a square of white linen. The handkerchief was silk, made for style rather than for any utilitarian purpose. Miss Parker quickly folded it into a pad and pressed it against the bullet hole in Jarod's hip. Pressure against the wound seemed to re-awaken the nerve endings. Pain abruptly lanced through Jarod's body and he cried out before he could stop himself.

"Stop it," Miss Parker chided him. "You've had worse." Her voice lacked its usual venom. Her tone was almost soothing.

"Hurts," Jarod gasped.

"I know."

"Good," Ravenhurst said. "No arterial spurting. I'd hate to have our young man bleed to death. That wouldn't be any fun." As he spoke, the old man tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants and pulled out the knife. He admired the glint of light off the metal.

"Leave him alone," Miss Parker snarled. "It was me you were after."

"Don't fret, Princess," Ravenhurst chortled. "You'll get your turn."

Miss Parker tensed as if to spring at their tormentor. But Jarod sensed the change in her and grabbed her arm. They said nothing, yet Jarod managed to communicate with Miss Parker through a glance.

'_Not yet,' _Jarod's eyes spoke to her. It did not surprise him when Miss Parker seemed to understand his meaning.

"Back off," Ravenhurst demanded. Motioning to Sydney and Miss Parker, he gestured them toward the far corner. After a moment's hesitation and a nod from Jarod, they complied. The burly man with the shotgun kept his weapon trained on them.

Ravenhurst crouched on the floor beside Jarod. He gently ran the point of his knife along Jarod's jaw line, leaving only a scratch in the flesh. "Before we are through, you will beg me to kill you, Jarod," the old man purred. "And you will willingly choose which of them I'll do next."

"You don't know me," Jarod replied in a low, dangerous voice.

Ravenhurst smiled. "We are going to get to know each other very well, my boy. Very well indeed."

Without warning, Ravenhurst lifted the knife and stabbed Jarod through the right shoulder, impaling him to the floor. Jarod screamed, writhing in agony. The pain was excruciating.

"Stop it!" Sydney cried. The three horrified onlookers surged forward but the man with the shotgun quickly reminded them of his presence, using the steel barrel to shove them each back into the corner.

"Oh but Jacob," Ravenhurst said with a grin. "We've only just begun." With a vicious little laugh, Ravenhurst stood over Jarod. He placed one booted foot on the younger man's chest for leverage then yanked hard on the knife to pull it from Jarod's body.

"On the contrary," an icy voice spoke from the still open doorway. "I say you are finished."

Ravenhurst's attention was immediately drawn away from the victim at his feet. "Lyle," the old man hissed when he recognized the intruder. "You were supposed to wait outside."

"I'm not known for my patience," Lyle responded calmly. In his good hand he held a standard Centre issue 9mm. The pistol was pointed at Ravenhurst.

"We had a deal," Ravenhurst growled.

Lyle frowned and fury crept into his eyes. "The deal was that you could kill them!" Lyle yelled, gesturing at the three prisoners standing in the corner. "Jarod was supposed to be mine."

"I've altered our bargain," Ravenhurst said. "You can have the little one."

"I can't use the little one," Lyle replied. "Jarod is the only one of any value to me."

Ravenhurst stomped his foot. "But I've already started with this one!"

The tension in the room was like a live thing. Lyle held Ravenhurst at gunpoint while the old man glared at him. Ravenhurst hesitated for a moment, the knife in his hand dripping blood onto the floor, as he seemed to consider going for his own gun.

"Drop the piece." The man with the shotgun had turned to train his weapon on the new arrival. He warned, "Drop it, or I'll blast ya."

Lyle smiled as though the man had just complimented him on his tie. Without batting an eye, Lyle moved, pivoting away from Ravenhurst. Lyle was fast and his aim was very good. The offending henchman had a bullet in his brain before he'd even registered Lyle's motion. Ravenhurst took advantage of Lyle's momentary distraction to drop the knife to the floor and pull out his gun. The two men were facing one another, each pointing a pistol and glaring down the barrel of another.

"Jarod is coming with me," Lyle hissed.

Miss Parker stepped over the man Lyle had just shot and growled, "Jarod isn't going anywhere with you, Baby Brother. He is coming back to the Centre with me."

"NO!" Ravenhurst screamed. "They will all die. Child of his heart, you will die!" The old man whirled toward Jarod and pointed his gun at Jarod's chest, aiming for the heart.

There was a shot and Jarod flinched. But it was Ravenhurst who fell to the floor clutching his chest. Lyle had been faster, destroying the crazy old man who would have robbed Lyle of his prize.

With his good hand, Jarod clawed across the floor. He backed away from the dead man, but more importantly, he increased the distance between himself and Mr. Lyle. The two feet Jarod traversed before reaching the far wall seemed like miles. Panting with exertion, Jarod sat up and leaned against the wall.

"Where's the sweeper team?" Miss Parker asked.

Lyle bent to retrieve Ravenhurst's gun. He cast his twin an angry look as he stood.

Miss Parker curled her lip in disgust. "You don't have one," she guessed. "You did all this on your own, without a directive." She paused for a moment then added, "If the Triumvirate learns you've been flying solo again they won't like it one bit."

"I've got Jarod haven't I?" Lyle motioned at the fallen pretender with his pistol. "It won't matter how I did it."

There was a distinctive sound of a shotgun cartridge ramming into place. "Excuse me," Nicholas spoke calmly. "But I wouldn't count my chickens just yet." Nicholas stood in the open doorway with the shotgun pointed at the others in the room. "Don't even breathe, Mr. Lyle. I may not be the crack shot you are, but I'm quite nervous at the moment. If this thing should suddenly go off, I'm guessing it will splatter your guts across the room."

Lyle seemed to ponder the situation for a moment. He finally decided that Nicholas, having more smarts than the dead hoodlum had possessed, was too much of an unknown to gamble on. Lyle raised his hands slowly and allowed his weapon to dangle helplessly from one finger. "Nicholas." Lyle turned on the charm. "So nice to see you again old friend."

"Whatever," the younger man replied. "Put both pistols on the floor. Slowly!" When Lyle had complied he added. "Now kick them over here."

"This is no movie Nicholas," Sydney spoke. "There could be serious consequences to these actions."

As each gun slid across the floor, Nicholas kicked it again, sending the weapon spinning out the door and into the hallway. "I won't pretend that I fully understand what is going on," Nicholas said. "I'm just following my instincts. Now the knife."

Ravenhurst's bloodied knife followed the pistols into the abandoned corridor.

"Jarod," Nicholas asked. "Can you stand?"

Blinking in surprise, Jarod pressed his good shoulder against the wall and managed to climb shakily to his feet. He was leaning heavily to the left, favoring his injured side, but he was able to stand. He looked toward Nicholas and nodded.

"Come here," Nicholas ordered.

With his first step, Jarod nearly toppled over. But he limped quickly from his right to his left leg. Clutching his bleeding shoulder with his good hand, Jarod crossed the room as quickly as he could.

"Nicholas," Lyle warned. "You don't know what kind of man you're getting involved with. He's dangerous."

Nicholas nodded. "I know."

With a nod of his head, Nicholas indicated that Jarod should go through the door.

"Parker!" Lyle cried in frustration. "Why didn't you grab that shotgun? This is your fault!"

"If I had gotten hold of that thing," Parker snarled. "You'd have had both barrels crammed down your throat."

Jarod hobbled into the corridor and leaned wearily against the far wall. Nicholas followed him out of the room. As the younger man closed the door behind them, he did his best to ignore the enraged cries coming from within. For a moment, the two men stood in the hallway, staring at each other as they caught their breath.

"Why are you helping me?" Jarod asked.

Nicholas shrugged. "You're bleeding," he answered.

"And?" Jarod coaxed.

"Well," Nicholas admitted. "As I see it, my father raised you. That sort of makes us brothers in a weird kind of way."

Jarod puzzled over that for a minute. "Brothers, eh?" he said.

"Sort of," Nicholas repeated. "Like step-brothers."

Jarod smiled. "Sydney connects us somehow," he added with a nod.

Nicholas grinned in return. A moment later Jarod paled noticeably and grimaced with pain. "Come on Jarod," Nicholas said as he placed Jarod's arm around his shoulders. "We need to get you out of here."

End pt 6

**Note: Pretender Season 2 DVD release in the U.S. September 13th, 2005!**


	7. Scott Free

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

**Burden of Truth Part7**

By Phenyx

06/25/05

"Damn, damn, damn, damn!" Lyle punctuated each word by pounding his thumb-less fist against the locked door. By a shear whim of fate, Jarod had escaped again leaving Lyle looking like a fool. Impotent frustration writhed in Lyle's stomach. When a slender finger poked him in the shoulder, Lyle turned, ready to release his anger on the nearest available victim.

Miss Parker moved quickly. Her fist was already in mid-swing as Lyle whirled to face her. He turned directly into Miss Parker's flying knuckles and his head snapped back with the force of the contact. Lyle crashed to the floor, landing on his bottom with a graceless thud.

"I warned you, you moron," Miss Parker hissed. "I told you that if you ever tried to kill me again,"

"I believe your exact words," Lyle interrupted. "Were that if I ever sent you into a building about to explode, it better." He rubbed his aching jaw as he smirked at her. "No explosives involved here, Parker."

Miss Parker made a rude noise and glared at him.

Lyle simply shrugged. "Can't blame me for trying. Persistence always wins, eventually."

Parker crouched beside her brother and smiled. It was one of those pretty, sweet little smiles that gave Lyle the chills. Suddenly grabbing Lyle by the tie, she yanked his face close to hers. After studying him closely for a moment she whispered, "You hear them too don't you?"

Lyle swallowed hard before answering. "I don't know what you mean."

The smile grew, becoming both sweeter and yet colder at the same time. "Yes," Miss Parker purred. "You know what I mean. You hear the voices whispering to you. Late at night, when you are all alone and there's no other sound to distract you from them. That is when they speak to you."

The silk around Lyle's throat tightened and Parker pulled him even closer.

"I know what they say, Bobby," she said. "I know."

Lyle swallowed again and tried desperately to hide the fact that Parker was getting to him. Without warning, Miss Parker shoved Lyle backward and rose to her feet in one smooth motion. Standing over him, Miss Parker primly folded her hands in front of her and glared at him like he was a large bug.

"Imagine what those whispers will become, Bobby," she told him sweetly. "What fearful taunting will you suffer if my voice were ever to join them?"

Lyle stared up at his sister, knowing that the color was draining from his face yet powerless to do anything to stop it.

She paused for only a moment before continuing. "How long will it take me to snap that slender thread of sanity you present to the world, baby brother? Whispers you can't escape, never fading. Ever."

"You'll be too busy rotting in hell to haunt me," Lyle growled in a belated show of bravado.

The sweet, frightening smile didn't waver. "Yes," Miss Parker agreed. "I'll be in hell. But believe me when I say, I won't go before dragging you with me."

Jarod hobbled through a maze of corridors that felt miles long. Nicholas led the way by several steps, stopping often to let Jarod catch up to him. Arriving at an intersection, Nicholas looked to Jarod for direction.

"Which way?" the younger man asked. "Left or right?"

Jarod paused, taking the brief moment to try and catch his breath. Glancing back the way they had come, Jarod noticed a distinct trail of red leading down the hallway. He was bleeding badly.

"Go to the right," Jarod commanded. "Run for fifteen seconds then come back and tell me what you've found."

As Nicholas turned to do as he'd been told, Jarod leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Jarod?" Nicholas' concerned voice called to him.

"What?" Jarod growled.

"I'm back. Nothing but more hallway and another storeroom."

Jarod frowned. He had not even registered Nicholas' departure, let alone the span of time that must have passed before his return. Panting heavily, Jarod confided in the younger man. "I think I'm close to losing consciousness."

"Please don't do that," Nicholas begged. "Come on, let's try this way."

Nicholas pulled Jarod's good arm across his shoulders. Grabbing Jarod's wrist in one hand and the belt loop of Jarod's jeans in the other, Nicholas struggled down the corridor to his left, dragging the wounded pretender with him. They rounded a corner and pushed through a swinging door to reveal a large kitchen.

Along one wall was a huge refrigerator, flanked by a series of cabinets. There was a heavy wooden table that had seen better days, surrounded by four rickety looking chairs. The far corner of the room held three folding cots and a low bench. On the bench was an assortment of bandages and bottles as well as a large pack made of green cloth with a red cross embossed on the flap.

Nicholas stopped abruptly as he realized that one of the cots was occupied. The man Jarod had attacked several hours ago was lying there, snoring softly. Nicholas glanced at Jarod who said, "Check him."

Nicholas left Jarod leaning against the table. Nicholas picked up one of the chairs and brandished it like a club as he approached the sleeping man. After poking the inert form several times, Nicholas looked back at Jarod.

"He's out cold."

"Good," Jarod replied. "Grab that first aid kit and all the gear. We'll need it."

The pack had a wide strap that Nicholas used to drag the bag toward him. Along with the pack, came a jingle of keys and the clatter of a cell phone as the two items fell from the bench and hit the floor. Grinning at his wickedly good luck, Jarod nodded and Nicholas bent and retrieved both objects.

With the pack safely slung over one shoulder, Nicholas returned to Jarod's side. Supporting Jarod's weight as best he could, Nicholas continued through the room to a door on the opposite wall. Nicholas pressed on the silver bar that was the door handle and a moment later he was blinking in the bright sunshine of a new morning.

"Thank god," he sighed.

The two men started to make their way across a paved lot. There were only two vehicles in the area, several yards to one side. One car was a black convertible Mercedes 500 SL and Jarod had a sudden yearning to take it. He knew this to be Lyle's car. Unfortunately, Lyle's keys were more than likely in Lyle's pocket at the moment and Jarod was in no shape to hotwire an automobile.

With a nod of his head, Jarod directed Nicholas toward the second car in the lot. An older model, the four door, white sedan had been a beauty once upon a time. But it's glory days were long over. As expected, the keys Nicholas had found fit the sedan. Within minutes, Jarod had been deposited in the passenger seat and Nicholas was driving away from the large building.

The silence in the room was oppressive. Miss Parker sat on her heels with her back against the wall. She completely ignored her two companions. Her mood did not invite comment from either of the men.

She sat there for a long time. The tension in the room continued to grow, feeding her anger and stirring her resentment to even higher levels. Miss Parker welcomed the rage. It served a valuable purpose. Misery and despair led to surrender. Fury bolstered her and made her stronger.

"Miss Parker?" The soft accented voice was cautious and tentative.

She answered him with an ice-cold stare that would have felled a lesser man.

"Please believe me, Miss Parker," Sydney begged. "My loyalty to you has never wavered. The name I use means nothing."

"Believe you?" Miss Parker eyed him critically. "You are asking a great deal."

"Am I asking too much?"

"For now," she answered. "Yes. You are."

"Can you forgive me?" Sydney asked.

Miss Parker closed her eyes with a weary sigh. "Perhaps," she replied.

Sydney sat down beside Miss Parker, encouraged by the fact that she was no longer throwing daggers with her eyes. "Do you think _he_ can forgive me?" Neither of them needed to specify whom Sydney was talking about.

"He probably already has," she said. Opening her eyes Miss Parker gazed sadly into the older man's eyes. "Even after everything that has happened, all the pain he has suffered at your hands, he still cares about you."

"He has a remarkable capacity for caring about others," Sydney agreed.

Miss Parker shook her head and smiled. "I wonder where learned it?"

"As touching as this scene is," Lyle interrupted. "I should point out that your little pet has locked us in here with two dead men!"

"The body count can easily be increased Lyle," Miss Parker warned.

"What are we going to do?" Lyle cried.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Miss Parker hissed. "All we have to do is wait. Help will come."

Lyle raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Someone knows we're here?" he asked.

Miss Parker nodded. "Jarod knows. He'll do something about it."

"How can you be so sure?" Lyle asked with a frown.

Miss Parker laughed caustically. "The opportunity for humiliating us is just too good to pass up."

Jarod was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. He needed to focus on the road, keeping his attention on the signs along the berm. It was the only way to determine their current location. Using the contents of the first aid kit, Jarod had been able to stuff some bandages into his wounds. But it was only a temporary fix.

As Nicholas drove, he gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Every few seconds, he'd glance at Jarod in concern. "We need to find a hospital," he said.

"No!" Jarod's voice was louder than he had intended it to be. "No. Hospitals will be the first place they'll look for me. The doctors will want to admit me and I'll be sedated. I won't stand a chance."

"But you need help," Nicholas argued.

Jarod shook his head. "I need a place to sleep. I just need to rest for a couple of days."

"Jarod." Nicholas seemed unconvinced.

"Look," Jarod said. "We need to figure out where we are. Then you drop me off at a secluded motel that charges by the hour. One of those places that won't ask too many questions."

"Then what?" Nicholas asked.

"Then you go home and try to forget the last twenty-four hours." Jarod answered

"I don't think I can do that," Nicholas told him.

"You'd better try." Jarod's attention was caught by a green sign posted at the side of the two-lane highway. The sign displayed all the information he needed. With a grim nod of his head, Jarod picked up the cell phone from the seat beside him and quickly dialed a series of numbers. The call was answered almost immediately.

"Hello?"

"Listen closely," Jarod ordered. "Route 495. About fifteen miles south of Jennings, Maryland there is an abandoned warehouse. Miss Parker is locked in a room with Sydney and Lyle."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah," Jarod agreed. "And Mr. Broots? Take a couple cleaners with you. There are bodies."

Jarod disconnected the call, ignoring the sputtering questions from the other end of the line. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. His shoulder and hip were both throbbing with agony. As exhaustion and pain overwhelmed him, Jarod surrendered to the darkness and passed out.

End Part7


	8. Someone to Trust

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

-

**Burden of Truth Part8**

By Phenyx

06/28/05

-

"You're still bleeding," Nicholas said warily.

"It isn't bad. But I need to get the bullet out." Jarod's reply was calm and flat. His jaw clenched against the pain but he revealed nothing in the tone of his voice. Jarod sat on the counter next to the sink. His hair was wet and his skin still damp from the cold but rejuvenating shower he'd taken. His torn shoulder oozed blood that mixed with the droplets of water on his chest. The resulting thin liquid ran in rivulets down his body.

Around his waist, Jarod wore one of the plain white towels the motel had provided. The towel was thin and had seen it's share of washings but it seemed clean enough. Jarod had the terrycloth wrapped around his midsection, strategically positioned to cover his nakedness while still leaving the wound in his hip exposed.

As Nicholas watched, Jarod rummaged through the first aid and pulled out an assortment of items. Jarod opened a square packet, releasing the distinct odor of alcohol into the air. The alcohol swap was used to thoroughly scrub a long metal instrument that resembled a huge pair of tweezers. Nicholas gaped in astonishment as Jarod began to dig at the wound on his side with the stainless steel forceps.

Jarod worked wordlessly, gritting his teeth and frowning with concentration. It took just over a minute before he found the foreign object and yanked it from his flesh. Jarod tossed the bloody bullet and the forceps aside, allowing them to clatter hollowly into the sink. With a gasp, he quickly pressed a gauze pad against the wound and, panting heavily, he slumped against the wall.

"Isn't there anything I can do for you?" Nicholas asked.

Jarod gazed at the younger man. "Go home," he answered.

Nicholas shook his head.

"Your mother will be worried about you," Jarod told him.

Nicholas smiled. "I'm a big boy Jarod. I don't live at home anymore. Besides, my mother is in Seattle visiting my aunt." He shrugged. "She's been working hard to stay in touch with my father's family."

"Someone will be missing you," Jarod argued. "Friends, neighbors?"

"I doubt it," was the reply. "They'll all assume I've gone somewhere, especially with it being a long weekend. No one will be alarmed until I miss class on Wednesday."

"Well, that's depressing," Jarod said. He eyed the younger man curiously. "Surely there's a girlfriend or something."

"I'm working on it," Nicholas answered with a smile.

Jarod nodded solemnly, as though he had just been entrusted with some piece of sacred knowledge. He then turned his attention back to the first aid kit. "Are you squeamish?" he asked the younger man.

"Even if I was," Nicholas answered in a droll tone. "The last several hours would have forced a cure."

"Good. Pay attention."

Working calmly, Jarod peeled open a suture packet. He pivoted his body on the faux marble counter top so that he was facing the mirror. Jarod then proceeded to stitch the knife wound on his shoulder.

Despite his claims, Nicholas winced each time Jarod pulled the thread taut. The needle piercing the skin on each side of the cut had to hurt. But Jarod seemed unfazed. Only the sweat beading on his brow gave any indication of pain.

When the wound was closed, black thread struck a stark contrast against Jarod's pale skin. With a sigh, Jarod leaned forward, resting his forehead against the mirror. He panted for a moment, letting the throbbing of his injuries overwhelm him for a short time.

"Jarod?" Nicholas asked. "Are you alright?"

Jarod opened his eyes and straightened. In the reflection of the mirror, Jarod's gaze found Nicholas'. Without a word, Jarod lifted his hand, offering the needle and additional thread to Nicholas. It took only a heartbeat of time before the younger man picked up on Jarod's meaning.

"You're kidding," Nicholas gasped.

"The knife went all the way through," Jarod explained. "I can't reach the exit wound well enough to suture it."

Nicholas shook his head frantically. "I'm not a doctor. I don't know how!"

"It's easy," Jarod assured him. "Haven't you ever bought a new pair of shoes?"

"Shoes?"

Jarod nodded. "It's just like threading new shoelaces."

"Somehow I doubt that," Nicholas said.

"Not exactly what they teach at the Mayo Clinic," Jarod added with a shrug. "But it will do the job."

Nicholas nervously took the needle. His hands shook visibly as he hunched in position over Jarod's shoulder blade. Looking up, Nicholas glanced into the dark eyes that watched him from the mirror.

"I don't want to hurt you," Nicholas said.

"Don't worry about it," Jarod replied. "I have a very high tolerance for pain."

Indeed, Jarod seemed completely unaffected by Nicholas' ministrations. He didn't flinch or gasp or in any way display discomfort as Nicholas worked. Nicholas stitched the wound as quickly as he dared yet it still took several minutes to finish the job.

"Done?" Jarod asked.

With a nod Nicholas eyed his work critically. "There will be an ugly scar I'm afraid."

"It will make a fine addition to my collection," Jarod replied in a caustic tone. "Tape some gauze over it."

Nicholas did as he was told. He then followed Jarod out of the bathroom, watching as the injured man limped across the room to flop wearily onto the bed. Jarod lay there for several minutes with his good arm thrown across his eyes.

After a while Jarod lifted his head and eyed Nicholas. "You aren't leaving," Jarod observed.

"I can't," Nicholas said. "Not yet."

"I'll be fine," Jarod promised.

Nicholas frowned and chewed thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Tell me about The Centre."

"You don't want to know."

"Yes I do," Nicholas argued.

"Dragging you into the game will change your life forever," Jarod told him. "Just as it changed your mother's."

"What does my mother have to do with this?" Nicholas frowned.

Jarod shook his head and gazed woefully at the younger man. "Did you never wonder how your parents met?"

"She was at The Centre," Nicholas said.

Jarod nodded. "She worked there for a time."

"What did she do?"

Jarod's dark gaze studied Nicholas in silence. For a full minute Jarod seemed to be searching for something. It was as if he could look hard enough to see into Nicholas' soul and examine the younger man's fate. "Are you sure about this?" Jarod asked softly. "It may affect your image of her."

Nicholas felt an abrupt shudder of apprehension rush through him and goose bumps rose on his flesh. For a moment, Nicholas wanted to pull back; to cower from whatever terrible things Jarod was about to say. Like a child afraid of the dark, Nicholas wanted to hide from the shadows that seemed to threaten him. But he wasn't a child. Nicholas was old enough to understand that the imagined fear was rarely genuine. Unknown, unseen dangers were far more sinister.

"I'm sure," Nicholas answered.

With a single nod, Jarod laid his head back against the pillow and covered his eyes with one forearm. He paused and seemed to almost have fallen asleep, before he finally spoke. "I don't know what she did exactly, " Jarod said softly. "She worked with Sy… She helped your father."

"You knew her," Nicholas added.

"I remember her," Jarod corrected. "Though she and I never interacted. My…" Jarod paused as he searched for the appropriate words. "My involvement with others was strictly limited. No mere assistant was allowed on the very short list of people I was permitted to speak to."

Jarod remained motionless on the bed, his arm tossed casually across his eyes. His body seemed completely relaxed as if he were lying on a beach in the sun. Nicholas did not know him well enough to understand how practiced and misleading Jarod's body language could be.

"Outside influences could taint the experiment, you see." Jarod continued to explain. "My work had to be unaffected by social conformity, untarnished by convention."

"Were you completely isolated?" Nicholas asked.

"For the most part," Jarod agreed. "For weeks, even months, at a time, Sydney was my only source of human contact. He told me when to eat, when to sleep, when to sit, when to stand, when to breathe and when to stop. Everything I did, I did because he allowed it.

There were a handful of others. Some whose arrival I dreaded. Yet even they provided a small measure of what I so desperately needed. I was denied the touch of another for so long, that even a beating provided something I craved. Physical contact."

Jarod paused, allowing Nicholas' stunned silence to fill the room.

"I do remember your mother," Jarod finally continued. "I didn't know her name at the time. She was just another observer in a white coat, hovering at the edges of the Sim lab one day."

"Sim Lab?" Nicholas asked.

"Simulation laboratory," Jarod explained. "Something like Dr. Frankenstein's lab but without the lightning."

"Complete with a monster and severed body parts?" Nicholas vainly tried to bring some levity to the conversation.

"There was more than one monster in that dungeon," Jarod answered. "Probably more than a few body parts hidden away as well. I know for a fact there's at least one thumb."

"I don't believe you." Nicholas shook his head in denial. "My mother would never be a part of such a place."

Jarod lowered his arm and lifted his head slowly. His dark eyes bored into Nicholas' lighter ones. "Shall I tell you about the dress she had on that day? Does she still wear _Fleurs de nuit_ perfume? I only saw her the one time, but she was most definitely there."

"Perhaps you're mistaken," Nicholas tried hopefully. "It was years ago. You may not remember correctly."

"I remember," Jarod assured him. "She made a lasting impression."

Nicholas frowned. "How is that?"

"She smiled at me," Jarod replied with a shrug. "That was probably the reason she was never allowed back in the Sim lab. Smiles were few and far between. I cherished each one I received."

"I don't understand." Nicholas sighed. He sat on the edge of the bed in deflated confusion. "Why would she work in such a place?"

"She didn't stay long," Jarod said. "She left. To protect both you and the man she loved, she left."

The two men stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"How long were you kept there?" Nicholas asked abruptly.

Jarod lay down, covering his eyes as he had before. "I was taken from my family when I was four," he said in the same calm tone. "I escaped a little over six years ago."

Nicholas gasped. "Your entire life! You're telling me that The Centre held you in isolation for most of your life!"

"Pretty much," Jarod agreed.

"And those people we left at the warehouse want to lock you away again?"

"In their minds," Jarod explained. "I belong to them."

Nicholas shook his head. "It's too farfetched. I don't know how to believe you," he said.

"Good." Jarod's tone grew hard and cold. "You'll be safer if you don't believe me." With that, Jarod rolled over onto his good side. He punched the pillow a couple of times before tucking it under his head. "Now," Jarod added. "If you insist upon hanging around, why not make yourself useful and get us something to eat? I'm starved."

"But we aren't done talking about this," Nicholas argued.

"Yes, we are," Jarod told him. "If you can not accept the fundamental premise, there's no way you'll believe anything else I tell you."

"You don't have to be a bastard about it," Nicholas grumped.

Jarod sat up with a speed that made Nicholas flinch with surprise. "I'm being a bastard?" Jarod growled. "I'm not the one who just tossed aside your existence. It may be farfetched but it happened, damn it. I lived it! I am REAL!"

Nicholas shrank away from the fury in Jarod's voice. The tension in the other man's body was like a live thing making Nicholas concerned for his own safety. But then, Nicholas' eyes met the dark gaze of his enraged companion. There was something else shimmering in those deep brown eyes. The hard flat glare Nicholas had found in Jarod's eyes earlier was now gone. Instead, Nicholas could see desperation, fear and pain all struggling for dominance.

Suddenly, Nicholas believed every word Jarod had said.

-

End part 8


	9. Better Part of Valor

**Disclaimer: **See chapter 1.

-**Author's Note**: Summer is over. The children are all back in school. I figured it was about time I quit messing around and finished this story already.

-

**Burden of Truth Part9**

By Phenyx

08/28/05

-

Parker was tired. Her body ached with fatigue. For one fleeting moment she wished that Jarod had not taken his jacket when he'd left. She wanted nothing more than to curl up under the leather-scented warmth and drift to sleep once again. But there was no way she could sleep now. Hell would freeze over before she lowered her guard while Lyle was in the room.

It wasn't that Parker feared her twin. She simply knew better than to allow him any leeway. Lyle was a power-hungry psychopath who would love to see her dead. And yet, Parker knew that Lyle wasn't going to hurt her. Not today. She'd seen her brother's reaction to their earlier conversation. Lyle had no doubt about her ability to haunt him from the afterlife. Even though Parker had no clue how she'd go about it.

It didn't really matter. If Lyle ever succeeded in his attempts on Miss Parker's life, she would carry out her threat if she could. If she couldn't, well she'd be dead and wouldn't care anyway. Lyle would suffer, of that much Parker was confident. Her spirit wouldn't need to do a damn thing. Her self-appointed guardian angel would smite her killer with a vengeance never before imagined.

Thinking of her exasperatingly persistent champion, Parker sighed and ran one hand through her hair. Caught somewhere between irritation and concern, Miss Parker did her best to fuel the anger. She didn't want to be worried. She didn't want to consider the dark red blemish that smeared across the floor. She tried to ignore the stain she knew to be type AB negative blood.

Hours had past since Jarod had limped from this room. He'd been pale and near shock, bleeding badly. Parker hoped that Nicholas knew something about first aid. She hoped that the young man had not left Jarod behind. Parker's mind treated her to a graphic image of Jarod lying in a ditch somewhere as his life oozed from his body to seep into the soil.

"Damned fool," Parker hissed under breath, letting the anger flow. She didn't want to be worried. She'd never admit that she was.

"Miss Parker?"

Parker snapped to attention at the sound of the faint voice. With a quick glance at her companions, Parker could tell that Lyle and Sydney had heard it too.

"Miss Parker?"

"Broots!" Parker went to the door and pounded on it with one fist. "Broots, you moron, get us out of here!"

"Miss Parker." Broots' voice was muffled but easily recognizable. "We'll have you out of there in a jiffy."

Parker turned toward Sydney and grinned, forgetting for the moment that she was angry with him. Broots' presence and their impending rescue meant that Jarod had escaped. He'd gotten away and had called Broots, telling the balding technician where to find them. Jarod was alive.

Jarod was alive, in spite of the fact that he'd taken a bullet meant for Miss Parker. He had saved her life. Again. No doubt he'd be calling in the middle of some night in the very near future to remind Parker of that fact.

"Damn," Parker muttered to herself. This time, irritation overrode concern with no trouble at all.

-

The rustle of a paper bag and the tantalizing aroma of French fries woke Jarod. He was lying on the sagging old motel bed, wearing nothing but the towel he'd donned earlier. For a moment he watched Nicholas move quietly around the room.

"Sorry," Nicholas said when he noticed Jarod's gaze following him. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," Jarod answered. "I want those fries more than I want to sleep." Reaching over his head with his good arm, Jarod grabbed the metal post on the headboard. He hauled himself into a sitting position, no easy feat considering the stiffness that had worked through his right side.

"Jarod?" Nicholas asked.

"I'm okay," Jarod reassured him. "Sore as hell, but okay."

For the next several minutes, the two men ate in silence.

"The cash machine worked just like you said it would," Nicholas said. When Jarod made no reply the younger man frowned. "Where would you learn about something like that?"

"It was designed that way," Jarod answered around a mouthful of cheeseburger. With a shrug he added, "Sometimes, when I got really bored with a sim, I'd plant little puzzles or pranks within the code. No one ever found that one." He shrugged again. "It's rather handy on occasion."

Nicholas eyed Jarod for a moment. "You're not kidding," he said. When Jarod remained silent, Nicholas continued in disbelief. "You found a way to plant hidden code into every ATM machine in the country?"

"No," Jarod sighed. "Only one."

"I don't understand."

"Automated teller machines have become more sophisticated over the years, but the basic foundation of their function has remained constant from the very beginning," Jarod explained as he stuffed french fries into his mouth. "I planted the bug in the first one. The others were simply copied."

Nicholas tossed his unfinished burger onto the table, appetite gone. "I find it hard to believe that you invented the cash machine, Jarod."

"I didn't," Jarod answered. "It was invented in 1939 by a man named Luther Simjian. I was tasked with making the idea work efficiently enough to mass-produce them."

Feeling as though his legs were made of jelly, Nicholas sat heavily on the mattress at the foot of the bed. "That must have been ages ago," he said in a whisper.

Jarod shrugged. "I was eight, maybe nine. Are you going to eat that?" he added with a gesture toward the abandoned cheeseburger.

Nicholas shook his head. He leaned over and pushed the sandwich in Jarod's general direction.

"You begin to understand," Jarod said as he took in the troubled look on Nicholas' face.

"Not really," Nicholas replied. Gazing up at Jarod, younger man pleaded, "You have to tell me what I've gotten dragged into, Jarod. Please. There are so many questions running through my head right now and you are the only one with the answers."

Jarod scoffed. "What I know will only cause more questions. And it will affect your relationship with Sydney, possibly with your mother as well."

Shaking his head Nicholas argued, "I need to know. Put yourself in my shoes, Jarod. Wouldn't you want the same, no matter what the cost?"

"Yes," Jarod admitted. He stared intently at the younger man for a long moment, fully aware of the potential danger he was bringing into Nicholas' life. Swallowing hard, Jarod sighed. The boy's life was already changed forever. There was nothing Jarod could do to reverse that. But in revealing the secrets of The Centre, Jarod would be drawing Nicholas into the circle of lives for which he was directly responsible.

Jarod balled up the empty fast-food wrappers and tossed the wad across the room. Running one hand through his hair, Jarod took a deep breath and began, "I'm a pretender. I can become anything I want to be." With a wry smile he confessed, "I don't need to imagine how you feel right now. I know. In my mind I can place myself in your position and know exactly what thoughts are running through your mind.

It is an inherent skill. I was born with it just as I was born with an advanced intellect. It is a talent much desired in some circles. When I was very young, I was taken from my family and raised by people who wanted that skill."

"Taken by my father," Nicholas interrupted.

"Evidently," Jarod nodded. "He raised me, studied me and trained me. I was isolated from the world so that I could focus on my gift. Through simulations I invented new technologies, designed better buildings, built stronger bridges. I drafted negotiations, swayed political campaigns, influenced economies and even fed the hungry.

We did great good together, Sydney and I," Jarod said woefully. "That's what I was told anyway. I believed them for a long time. When I finally realized the truth, I began to understand what I had really become."

"The truth?" Nicholas asked.

Jarod nodded. "My work was sold to the highest bidder regardless of the client's intent. The results were corrupted, used to harm, to hurt and to maim." Jarod plucked at a stray thread on the bedspread and did his best to keep his voice steady. "People died, Nicholas. Even as small boy, I was dreaming up things that have killed thousands. The blood on my hands is incalculable."

"You couldn't have known," Nicholas gasped. "You were only a child."

"Ignorance is no excuse for murder," Jarod replied.

"How did you escape," Nicholas asked after a brief pause.

"When it became apparent that they were never going to release me," Jarod explained. "I simply left." He laughed in self-depreciation. "There was really nothing simple about it. Getting out was the easy part. You see, I could not remember ever seeing a bird, an autumn leaf or a rainbow. Nothing in the real world was quite real, if that makes any sense. I didn't know the rules, couldn't drive a car. Things as mundane as escalators and revolving doors were new to me. I spent months in a state of fascinated wonder, too naive to understand how frightening it all was."

Jarod smiled sadly at his young companion. "To this day, there are things I don't understand, occasional references to a past that the rest of society takes for granted. I live an odd kind of life, free and yet not. The Centre hunts for me so that I am always on the run. At the same time, I search for the family that I was taken from so many years ago."

"There must be a way," Nicholas began. "The F.B.I."

"No," Jarod cut him off. "The government is one of The Centre's best clients. Even if I could get to someone who would listen, no one will believe me. In the best-case scenario, they'd have me committed to a mental institution. Worse yet, they could believe just enough of my story to declare me a terrorist threat." Jarod gazed woefully at his companion. "I am a dangerous man, Nicholas. In the struggle to survive, I can be very dangerous indeed."

With a muffled groan, Jarod carefully slid to the edge of the bed and hauled himself to his feet.

"There has to be a way to expose them," Nicholas continued.

Jarod shook his head. He limped across the room to where his jeans hung over the back of a chair. "Expose who?" He asked. "Sydney would be the one to suffer if I tried anything like that. The Centre's upper echelon would see to it that Sydney was their sacrificial lamb." As Jarod talked, he tossed aside the towel he wore and proceeded to put on his pants.

It took a few moments, but Jarod got the denim over his bandaged hip. The jeans were still damp, uncomfortably so along the inseams. Jarod had been forced to wash the pants in the sink in order to remove the blood. He picked up his shirt and eyed it ruefully. Even though the bloodstains had been removed, the garment was a complete loss. The two tears in the shoulder, front and back, had nearly ripped the sleeve away.

"You're protecting him," Nicholas said.

"I suppose you could call it that." Giving up on the shirt, Jarod balled up the cotton and tossed it aside as he had done the with food wrappers a short time earlier. Instead, he grabbed up his jacket and gingerly pulled it on. He zipped the leather closed over his bare torso and turned toward Nicholas expectantly.

"What?" the younger man asked.

"Give me the keys to the car," Jarod ordered.

Nicholas obediently tossed the keys to Jarod. "Where are we headed?"

Jarod did not reply. He gazed silently at the younger man until his meaning was quite clear.

"No," Nicholas gasped. "You can't tell me all this and then just leave."

"Go home, Nicholas," Jarod told him.

"You expect me to go back to my ordinary average life, knowing what I know now?"

"I don't expect anything," Jarod said. "But I can hope. I hope you have an ordinary life. For the sake of those of us who can never understand what that means."

Nicholas slumped in resignation. "What do you want me to do, Jarod?"

Jarod limped to the younger man's side and placed a hand on Nicholas' shoulder. "Go home," Jarod urged kindly. Pulling his hand away Jarod straightened. As he continued, his tone lost its gentle warmth and grew hard. "Buy yourself a gun. Learn how to use it. Protect that ordinary life of yours, Nicholas. Treasure it."

Jarod turned and began to walk away. When he reached the door, Nicholas called to him once more. "Jarod, what shall I say to Sydney? How do I face him, knowing what he has done?"

With his hand on the doorknob, Jarod stared at the blank panel before him. He didn't move, keeping his back to Nicholas. "I wish I knew," he said softly.

A moment later the door was closing and Jarod was gone.

-

End part 9


	10. Ties that Bind

**Disclaimer**: The Pretender doesn't belong to me. I've stolen these characters for purely selfish reasons. I feel no remorse and therefore will not apologize. I am not making a dime on this endeavor so it does no one any good to sue me for it anyway.

-

**Burden of Truth pt10**

By Phenyx

09/06/2005

-

Miss Parker was asleep. Weariness had taken its toll. Alone, in the safety of her own bed, she had finally surrendered to the exhaustion and drifted into slumber. And yet, some part of her mind was still waiting, hovering expectantly at the blurred edges of consciousness.

As a result, when the phone rang shortly before four in the morning, Miss Parker snapped into wakefulness. She was alert and snatching the receiver from its cradle before the first jangling tone had finished. "What?" she growled.

"Do you think your father loved you?" Jarod asked without preamble.

Parker sat up and leaned her back against the headboard.

"And I'm not talking about Raines," Jarod added.

"I know who you meant," Parker said.

"Do you think he loved you?" Jarod repeated.

Running her hand through her hair, Miss Parker sighed. After a long pause she answered, "I choose to believe that he did. Yes."

"Why?"

"Why did he love me?" Parker asked.

"Don't pretend to be obtuse, Miss Parker. It doesn't suit you." Jarod snapped back in irritation.

Parker smiled. "My, aren't we a little cranky tonight?"

"My side hurts," Jarod complained. "And Tylenol just isn't going to cut it."

"Don't whine, Monkey-boy. It doesn't suit you."

"Why do you believe he loved you, Miss Parker?" Jarod asked again.

Parker shrugged. Then, realizing that Jarod couldn't see the action she replied, "Because I loved him."

"Do you think that makes any difference?"

Miss Parker closed her eyes and sighed. She could hear the underlying question Jarod wouldn't ask. She could feel the need for reassurance in the tone of his voice. "Perhaps," she said.

"But unconditional love is such a powerful thing," Jarod went on. "Can a child's need for love become so desperate that he loves what isn't there?"

"Jarod." Miss Parker's voice held resignation, disapproval and concern in equal measure.

Hundreds of miles away, Jarod shook his head. With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against the window. Rain pelted the glass, running in rivulets across his vision. Jarod didn't see the paved lot outside. He ignored the other cars that pulled in and out of the toll road's rest area. He was sore and tired and felt very alone.

"Every child deserves to be loved," Miss Parker said. Her tone was so low it barely amounted to a whisper. Yet Jarod could feel the soft voice drift over him like a caress.

"Even you?" he asked.

"Even you," she agreed.

There was another long pause between them.

"Are you angry with him?" Jarod pried.

"Yes," was the reply. Miss Parker did not need Jarod to tell her that their subject had changed. She followed the pretender's train of thought as easily as if there had been billboards posted to guide her. "Angry, disappointed, hurt. Those words sum it up rather well."

"Words," Jarod sighed. "Words seem so empty." He shifted in the seat as he tried to stretch his injured leg within the confines of the car. "'I'm sorry' feels so insignificant. The phrase heals about as well as these Tylenol. It's no more than a temporary veil over the pain."

"Sorrow heals nothing," Parker answered. "It is forgiveness that holds the power to soothe."

Jarod's breath caught in his throat. He was stunned at the simple compassion in Parker's comment.

"A friend told me that once," she continued. "A long time ago. I didn't understand it at the time."

"A friend," Jarod echoed. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. "You are very lucky, Miss Parker, to have such a caring friend."

"I know."

"I envy you," Jarod told her.

"Jarod," Miss Parker's voice regained its scolding edge. "You mean more to him than anything. You know that."

"I am his life's work."

"No Jarod," Miss Parker said. "You are his life."

Gripping the steering wheel in front of him, Jarod struggled with his emotions. Tears threatened and his shoulders shook with the effort to keep them at bay. "I want…" he gasped. "I want to hate him for what he has done to me. I want to despise him for my family's sake."

"No you don't," Parker scoffed. "You won't. You can't. He means too much to you."

"I hate that I was manipulated into caring for him," Jarod snarled, suddenly angry.

"We both detest the sick game we find ourselves caught up in," Miss Parker agreed. "But we still care for those who trapped us here. You can't make yourself blame him any more than I can blame my father or my mother."

Jarod released his grip on the steering wheel and pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. "I'm so damned angry," he said with a grimace.

"Rage is a wonderful tool," Miss Parker said. "It has always worked for me. Rip the head off a doll, kick a puppy or two, it's very liberating."

Abrupt laughter bubbled out of Jarod. Miss Parker had surprised him. The woman's sense of humor was a dark one, always had been. But Jarod found her wry remarks to be very comforting.

A rush of warmth flowed through him. As dangerous and tenacious as his huntress was, Jarod still blessed whatever fates had brought Miss Parker into his life. She understood him like no one else could. Her voice reached out to him through the darkness and reminded him that he wasn't alone.

Jarod had to bite his tongue to keep himself from voicing his feelings. He knew Miss Parker would reject any open affection just as she had after Carthis. He would need to find another way to convey the message.

"Torturing puppies just isn't my style," Jarod said with a smile.

"No," Miss Parker admitted. "That's what you have me for."

"Everyone needs a hobby, Miss Parker," Jarod teased.

"Try coin collecting," she answered. "Less dangerous."

"But no where near as fun." Jarod disconnected the call and sat for a moment in the darkened car. He smiled dreamily at the cell phone in his hand. He pondered for a full minute before his thoughts found the right way to tell Parker what he wanted to say.

Jarod would send Miss Parker a message with another of his gifts. It would be a gift that held meaning only for the two of them. She would understand it. She would know what he was truly trying to tell her.

His decision made, Jarod set the phone aside and started the car. He buckled his seatbelt and backed carefully out of the parking space. Only when the vehicle was back on the highway did Jarod retrieve the phone and dial another number. This time it rang twice before being answered.

"Jarod?" the accented voice asked.

"You know me too well," Jarod replied after a brief pause.

"No one else calls at this hour."

There was a long awkward silence over the line.

"Jarod," the older man began.

"I learned something tonight," Jarod interrupted. "I had always thought that the truth would change my world. But now I know that some truths don't alter anything."

"Jarod…"

"Sydney. I can't change the way I feel," Jarod interrupted his mentor again. "The way I've always felt. A rose by any other name, you know."

"Yes," Sydney's voice softened with tenderness. "You may call me Jacob if you feel it would be more honest."

"No. I know only Sydney," Jarod said sadly. "It was Sydney who raised me, taught me to be who I am. There is only one other name I have ever wanted to call you. But it is a name only Nicholas has the right to use."

-

-

Miss Parker closed her front door with the toe of her shoe. She tossed her car keys onto a low table and dumped the mail on top of them. With a sigh she unbuttoned her suit jacket and headed into the livingroom for a drink.

It had been one week since her ordeal with Ravenhurst. In that time she had learned a great deal about the man who had kidnapped and tried to kill her. Ravenhurst had been a dangerous man, a rival to the Parker family. He had challenged Miss Parker's father repeatedly and had, in the end, paid the price. Nothing that she had learned about the man showed him to have any redeeming qualities.

Miss Parker chose not to think about Ravenhurst's dead wife and child.

Dealing with the truth regarding Sydney and his past had turned out to be remarkably easy. Miss Parker simply ignored it. She and Sydney behaved as though nothing had happened. Even Lyle, still wary of the threats Miss Parker had made, refused to mention anything about that day.

With her glass of scotch in one hand, Miss Parker kicked off her shoes and turned toward the couch. She frowned for a moment at the large white box that rested on the middle cushion. The box was wider than it was tall, not wrapped except for the white silk ribbon crisscrossing the top.

Miss Parker sat next to the box and gracefully tucked her feet beneath her. Sipping at her drink, she briefly considered not opening the package. But it was a fleeting thought. Her curiosity would no doubt be her undoing one day. And Jarod knew it. She could no more avoid opening the gift than she could quit breathing.

With a sigh, Miss Parker set her glass on the end table and pulled the box onto her lap. It took one tug at the perfect bow to unravel the knot. Pushing aside the top flap of the box, Miss Parker found the note lying face up on top of a layer of white crepe paper.

"So you won't have to ask next time," the handwritten print read.

Beneath the paper, there was a dark leather jacket. Miss Parker recognized the slightly worn coat for she had last seen it barely a week ago. It was Jarod's. It was the same coat he had tossed over Parker in order to keep her warm.

Smiling to herself, Miss Parker caressed the collar with her fingertips. As she lifted the leather from its wrap, a smaller box tumbled from within the folds of the jacket. This box, about the size of a hardcover novel, was wrapped with a white ribbon identical to the larger one. A plain white card was tucked under the ribbon.

Miss Parker read the card. "So I won't have to ask next time."

Upon opening the box, Parker had to laugh. "He can't be serious," she grinned with delight. The silk stockings were exquisite, obviously expensive. They were black, thigh high and as light as feathers. There was even a matching garter belt to hold them in place.

With a devilish gleam in her eyes, Miss Parker leaned over and proceeded to pull the stockings onto her feet. She had chosen not to wear nylons this morning and the skirt she had on would match her gift quite well. It wasn't until she was straightening the elastic along her inner thigh that she wondered if Jarod might be watching her.

As Miss Parker admired her silk wrapped toes, she retrieved her drink and took a long sip. With a sigh she covered herself with the jacket and tucked it under her chin like a blanket. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"Until next time, Pez-head," she murmured to empty room.

-

**The End.**


End file.
